Sanguine
by daydreamer0083
Summary: A continuous five year mission is approaching and tensions are running high. And what exactly is so wrong with the Enterprise? Ensemble fic. Rated T for occasional language. Post-Into-Darkness. Pre-Beyond. (Now slight AU.) We're almost to the end! The final battle is just beginning!
1. Chapter 1: Mercurial

**Before the story starts, I should mention that all of the main characters will have a chapter from their point of view at some point and will be involved in the story, not just the people I put under 'characters'. Also, I should mention that OCs will be involved. It's kind of hard to run a starship with just the command crew. No worries, though. None of the original characters present will be romantic interests for any of the main characters.**

 **On to chapter one!**

-X-

Chapter 1: Mercurial

Dealing with James Tiberius Kirk would require patience and maturity, Nyota knew that. Yes, she knew it… but her mood was not a good one. Earlier that day they had honored those that had fallen in Khan's attack on the Enterprise and San Francisco. The weather had honored them too; a barely noticeable mist fell on the scene during the minute-long moment of silence. Now that the ceremony had concluded, there was a noticeable release of tension from the crowd that had returned to the base. Even though the sky was still cloudy, everything seemed a bit brighter. The dark uniforms that seemed so heavy and stiff just an hour ago were now light and people could finally breathe. Everyone's backs were unbent and shadowed eyes now looked up and around at the faces that surrounded them. Honoring the dead was a solemn occasion, but the upcoming mission made everyone remember that it didn't need to be depressing.

Nyota was not depressed. She was also not happy. She was damn annoyed.

The halls of Starfleet were packed with visitors and dignitaries from all over the world and every corner of Federation space. And when the halls were that crowded, she naturally had somewhere else to be. She considered every short cut and every bypass imaginable, but in the end she decided that the only option was to push her way through. Despite knowing her bad mood had something to do with her aggressive decision, she still went through with it and managed to get flipped off in almost every way known to mankind. Of course, she tried to ignore it and just continue to fight her way through the pack of people, but some of the ways other cultures indicated being royally pissed off were a bit crude. Disregarding them was more difficult than she had anticipated and by the time she reached her destination she was glowering at everyone.

Dealing with James Tiberius Kirk would require patience and maturity. Yes, Nyota knew that… and she didn't care. So, she just threw open the doors to the meeting room and stalked over to her chair between McCoy and Spock. Judging by the look on everyone's faces, all of them had a similar experience in the hall and all of them shared an equal amount of dread about the meeting. The Captain had been in an especially bad mood the past week and it was starting to rub off on the rest of them. She heard the door click shut behind her and then glanced around the room. At least she wasn't the last person to get there; there were two empty chairs.

The clock above the solitary window filled the space with echoing _clacks_. No one seemed to want to talk over it, but soon enough the silence was shattered. The breeze hit the back of her neck half a second after the door flew open. The sound of it bouncing off the wall and slamming shut again was accompanied by muttered Russian curses, some of which she hadn't heard before and filed away for later use. Obviously, Pavel had arrived. When he walked around the table she couldn't help raising an eyebrow at his appearance; he had had a harder time getting there than the rest of them. His grey shirt was wrinkled and his hair was a disaster zone, pushed up on one side and hastily flattened on the other. Pavel's face was bright red as he sat down in his seat across from her and Scotty and Hikaru were smirking book-ends on either side of him. Shifting in his seat, Pavel once again tried desperately to flatten his hair, but it was apparent to all it was a lost cause. After a while, everyone lost interest in his flustered appearance and went back to what they were doing before he came in. Namely, staring at the wall, the clock, out the window, and in basically every direction except for directly in front of them.

"You'd think – since he called the meeting – he'd be the first one here!" Scotty groused, startling everyone out of their reverie. There was no need to indicate who "he" was; there was only one empty chair left and it sat at the end of the table, presiding over a dim screen embedded in its surface. No one thought Scotty's indignation merited a response; since when had James T. Kirk been on time for anything? Next to her, McCoy just pulled on the edge of his shirt and moved in his seat.

"There were a significant amount of people in the halls when I was on my way here. Most likely the Captain has found himself waylaid by the same situation," Spock intoned. Nyota glanced to her left and let her mouth twitch into a smile at the sight of her boyfriend. "Boyfriend" was such an immature term, but it was the only one that didn't indicate much more than would have been accurate. "Lover" had too much physical contact in its connotation and "fiancée" was entirely inaccurate (even if it meant a larger sense of commitment) since they had no intention of getting married. Spock looked over at Nyota just at the same time as she did and nodded. To anyone who didn't know him, his expression didn't change. But to anyone who did know the half Vulcan, they could see there was just a slight upturn to the corners of his mouth when he looked over at her. That made her a little bit happier, but after those few precious moments of stillness, the door burst open for the final time and in stalked the Captain. He started talking before he even made it two feet into the room.

"Okay, none of us want to be here, so we'll make this as short of a meeting as possible. First off, thanks for helping me with crew approval. I actually managed to get it in on time yesterday, no thanks to the Admiralty and their due dates." Kirk fell into his chair with enough momentum that it spun all the way around before he managed to catch himself on the table to halt it. "Now why did they put god damn swivel chairs in a meeting room? I don't get it. If you need to see something, turn your chair. Chairs should not turn accidentally," he griped. While he continued to mutter to himself he turned on the screen in front of him and flicked through the crew files. "There were only two questionable candidates, one of which was expelled from the mission because of past discipline issues. Thank you, Chekov, for bringing that to my attention. The other was fine and I approved personally. Everyone should have gotten the final roster by now and can check over who is now working under you. Don't ask me why they waited until two days before the mission to get this to us, I asked and they decided to 'refrain from answering'. Any questions?" No one spoke. Next to her McCoy shifted in his seat some more. "Good. Next order of business – " and it went on like that for a while. They covered new manual override codes, new water policies for extended missions, official shift assignments, ideas to help stymie cabin fever before it started, and a few unpleasant topics such as new bathroom policies.

About a half hour later, Jim reached the end of his Starfleet mandated rant. "And finally, the Admiralty called me in a few days ago, as several of you noticed," the Captain swept his eyes over the room, and Nyota schooled her expression. Jim had come out of that meeting seething and his mood had only marginally improved over the intervening week. The only time he had really overcome his bad temper was when he gave his speech at the rechristening of the Enterprise. Nyota, along with the rest of the bridge crew, had decided that they'd had enough of Jim's behavior. So far everyone but Leonard had done their best to call Jim out on his mood, with varying results. After the meeting it was finally McCoy's turn and he had threatened that if his method didn't work he might actually drug Jim into a good mood. No one was one hundred percent sure he had been joking.

Jim gave a snort at the expressions of innocence and confusion that his crew had donned and continued, "I'm sure – since so many of you have approached me about this – you are all wondering when I'm going to get back to the old James Kirk you all know and love." He paused for laughter or groans of exasperation, but neither was forthcoming. "Oh come on, normally that would at least merit a sarcastic comment! I can't have been in that bad of mood!"

"Yeah, you could have. And, yeah, you have been," McCoy said. At the Captain's affronted expression he continued, "Jim, I want to have a word with you. Now and in private." There was a moment of tense silence before Kirk nodded.

"Fine. You're all dismissed." Nyota stood up and exited the room behind Spock. Scotty, Pavel, and Hikaru all filed out behind her, Hikaru pulling the door closed just as Nyota heard Jim say, "Okay, Bones. What do you want?" The halls were beginning to clear so the Enterprise's senior command crew congregated next to the entrance to the meeting room, getting as close to the wall as they were able so they wouldn't block traffic. Nyota was about to make her goodbyes when suddenly she could hear shouting, "For God's sake, Bones, I'm fine! Why are you all so hung up on this? I'll be back to normal on the mission, so what does it matter what I'm like right now? Just give me some room!" There was more muffled shouting after that and then Jim exploded out of the conference room, tossing the door to the side and stalking off down the hall. Nyota looked behind her and saw McCoy exiting the room at a more sedate pace.

"Obviously… that could have gone better," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. When he turned to walk away, Pavel dashed over to join him. Hikaru snickered and Nyota shot him a disapproving scowl.

"Why were you two laughing at Pavel when he came in for the meeting? He was just a bit rumpled; I'm sure we all were," she stated. In tandem with Scotty's and Hikaru's widening grins, Nyota's tone grew angrier.

"Yeah sure, we were all a little out of order," Scotty affirmed, looking like a cat in the cream.

"But not for the same reason!" Hikaru announced. The two of them started to laugh only to be cut off when Spock started to speak.

"You were in the meeting room and could not possibly know the reason for Lieutenant Chekov's appearance." The pilot and engineer only laughed harder. "Unless, of course," Spock said, now eyeing the two officers in front of him, "you are aware on information Nyota and I are not." Scotty finally cracked under the gaze of the first officer.

"Pavel has a girlfriend!"

Nyota felt herself smile. That was about the only good news she'd heard all day. ' _Good for Pavel_ ,' she thought, ' _he deserves someone special_.'

"Do you know who it is?" she asked. It occurred to her that she should probably make an appearance at this girl's room before they left on their mission and make sure that she knew that doing anything to break Pavel's heart would result in swift and severe retribution. It would be a complete coincidence, of course. Nothing would tie the Enterprise bridge crew to the sudden disappearance of a bunny called Snuffles or a stuffed bear named Fuzzy. Nothing at all.

"No, we don't know who it is." Hikaru's scowl told Nyota all she needed to know about his opinion on the matter. "We don't know anything about her. We don't even know if it's a 'her' or not. It could be a girlfriend, could be a boyfriend. It's basically Schrödinger's friend-of-indeterminate-gender. "

"Well that doesn't help narrow it down any," she muttered and started to think about a way to find out who this mystery significant other was.

"If you don't know who this person is, how do you know they exist? What evidence do you have of Lieutenant Chekov's being in a relationship at all?" Spock asked.

"If you don't know, don't ask," Scotty said, nodding sagely. "I was thinking about swiping the lad's phone or Pad when he wasn't looking. I'm sure if Hikaru can't guess the password Spock or I could hack it somehow."

"You will kindly leave me out of this," Spock said. Despite his dour tone, there was at least a hint of a smile there. "I will see you later, Nyota." He kissed her forehead – she was perfectly willing to admit she liked it when he did that – and then walked down the hall in the same direction as McCoy and Pavel.

"Alright then Mr. Stick-in-the-mud," Scotty said to Spock's receding back, "I'll hack it. Nyota, you can be the distraction. Hikaru, you grab the phone. I think our best chance is to get him now. Come on!" Scotty said, rallying his tiny army and marching off in the wrong direction. Hikaru and Nyota just looked at each other and shrugged.

"He'll catch on eventually," Nyota said and lead the way in the correct direction. They caught up to Pavel surprisingly quickly, just after passing McCoy coming back the other way, muttering about leaving something in the conference room. The young navigator was leaning against the windows that paneled one side of the hallway, staring at the jagged black skyline. The grey wall behind him and his slate colored uniform were illuminated by the soft, cool light that filtered through the clouds. His hair, still ruffled but now largely back in order, seemed dusty and pale. The whole scene was monochromatic, but in a romantic, dream-like way. At least, that was what Nyota thought until she saw his face. Pavel looked somewhere between confused and sad; he was tense and distracted and didn't hear them walking down the hall, despite the echoes that accompanied their footsteps. When she reached out to touch his arm he jumped in surprise.

"Nyota!" he exclaimed. "I'm sorry, you startled me. I was just thinking."

"What about? You looked like you just saw someone kick a puppy," Nyota asked, concerned. She walked to Pavel's left side to lean up against the window as well and position him so Hikaru was behind him. She almost didn't feel right about taking advantage of Pavel's trust like this but… she wanted to know who this mystery person was so she could know whose butt to kick should Pavel ever get that look on his face again.

"Not a puppy, exactly…" Pavel trailed off and then muttered in Russian, " _Maybe a mean old dog who likes sticking people with hyposprays. But not a puppy."_

Nyota inhaled sharply and then suddenly realized that Jim and Pavel hadn't been the only ones a little bit off during the meeting today. McCoy had seemed a little out of it, too. He had kept fidgeting. She wondered why she hadn't realized something was wrong with him.

"Leonard? What's wrong with Leonard?" she asked as Pavel's eyes widened. He must have forgotten who he was talking to. Forgotten she could speak Russian. Pavel opened his mouth to speak but Nyota cut him off. "Don't you dare say 'nothing'. We both know that's not true."

"I won't go into specifics, but…" the young Lieutenant seemed torn between telling her and keeping his friend's trust. "There was a family member that the doctor invited to the launch Thursday," Pavel never had gotten used to calling Leonard by his first name, or even his last name, "And he only invited this one person. But they can't make it, and Doctor McCoy said that he's sure they could have if they'd really wanted to." Behind Pavel, Hikaru gave a little wave and pocketed Pavel's phone. Nyota had to say she was surprised; she hadn't even seen him take it and she had never expected sleight of hand to be Sulu's thing. "Anyway, he says he's not that upset about it, but it's obvious he is. He went ahead and sent them a ticket, even though he knows it won't be used. I feel really badly for him and I want to help. Do you have any ideas?"

"No, I'm really sorry Pavel." Hikaru put a hand on his friend's shoulder and smiled, "I'll sleep on it and let you know tomorrow, that work?" he asked, stepping away.

"Sure, I guess."

"Sorry, Pavel. I can't think of anything, but if it's bothering you that much I'm sure you will," Nyota said, leaning over and giving him a hug. The halls were almost deserted by then so she could afford to be a little unprofessional. "I'll see you Thursday," she said and started walking after Hikaru. She wasn't quite sure, but there might have been a little bit of hurt in Pavel's expression as she turned away.

"Alright. See you Thursday," he called after them. When Nyota turned back around she saw him return to staring out the window. When she and Hikaru turned the corner back down the hall to the meeting room she couldn't help but say something.

"Pavel looks the same as he did before… before… you know… _what happened_. You remember," Nyota whispered, leaning closer with every word so she could be heard.

"Yeah. You're right… I'll check up on him tonight, make sure he's okay," Hikaru paused and then said, "You know, I might not wait. I think I'll just go ahead and check on him after we're done with the phone."

"That might be a good idea," Nyota said, an icy block sliding around in her stomach. "He promised not to, but…"

"Yeah, I get it, okay?" Hikaru hissed and ducked into a meeting room to his right. Scotty was already in there, feet propped on the table and leaning back in the black chair at the end of the table.

"Ah! Hikaru! Got my message. Good. Now let's see that phone!" He reached out and snatched the proffered phone. "It's too bad he's going to have to trade this in for a standard issue communicator while he's on board; this is one slick little computer." Scotty pressed a few buttons in a certain order and the screen turned a bright blue with a rotating line of white in the upper left hand corner. Several lines of code flashed on the screen before returning to almost plain blue. Scotty laid it down on the table and swiped down the device's side. A holographic keyboard appeared on the table to the right of the phone and Scotty typed several lines of code in a few seconds. For a moment, the screen turned black and Nyota thought they were in. But that was before the white light of the hologram keyboard flashed red and the blue came back on the screen with the words 'NICE TRY' written out in big letters. Scotty tried at least six more times to crack open the phone, only to have more and more mocking phrases thrown back at him. One time the entire message was 'HA HA,' followed by a winking emoticon.

"Damn it! What did that kid do? I've never been so insulted by a robot!" Scotty shouted, throwing his hands in the air. He returned the phone to its normal screen and then tossed it to Hikaru. "Here, try and guess the password. I give up." Nyota peered over Hikaru's shoulder as he typed in password after password – some of which Nyota recognized as navigational equations – and let out a growl of frustration when the eighth code was rejected.

"You guys made it seem like this would be easy," Nyota said, stepping back and crossing her arms.

"Now why would I make it easy for someone to get into my phone?" Nyota jumped and whipped around to look at the door. Pavel stood there, holding up his Pad. "I have an alert system," he said. "When someone tries to hack into one, I get a message and coordinates on the other." He walked forward and took the phone from Hikaru. Pavel's frown wasn't angry or disappointed. It was softer than that; it was more sad than anything else. "If you wanted the password you could have just asked. It's not like I have anything on here to hide. What were you looking for anyway?" Pavel sat down two chairs down from Scotty, looking at them all with heavily lidded eyes.

"We were looking for information on… the 'significant other' that Hikaru and Scotty say you have," Nyota said, moving to the chair next to Pavel. She suddenly realized it would have made a lot more sense just to ask him about it. Yeah, she was spending too much time around Jim and Scotty. "I'm sorry we tried to snoop and didn't ask you first."

"It's okay. Why did you want to know about Taylor?"

"We just wanted to make sure you didn't get your heart broken. We were just going to make sure…" Hikaru hesitated, "Taylor… understands that messing with you means messing with your friends, too, and we do not tolerate anyone breaking your heart."

"Why don't any of you think I can take care of myself?" Pavel sprang to his feet. "I'm perfectly capable of handling my own personal life, thank you very much for your concern! And just so you know, you guys aren't such great friends! You snoop on my phone, treat me like a child, and it only took you _six months_ to catch on I was dating someone! And on top of that, Taylor and I broke up yesterday because of the mission, so you're a day late to threaten anyone!" Pavel stomped out of the room muttering in Russian.

"Shit," Hikaru breathed. He jumped out of his chair and ran out of the room. "Pavel! Pavel, wait!" Hikaru followed Pavel down the hall and their voices faded except for the occasional staccato leap in volume.

Nyota put her elbows on the table and rested her head in her hands. Pavel, Leonard, Jim, and probably Hikaru were all going to be in a bad mood at the start of the mission and she was the one who was going to have to referee until they found a way to sort out their issues. This was not going to be an enjoyable week.

"Wait, hang on!" Scotty exclaimed from his place at the end of the table. Nyota looked up questioningly. "If they supposedly broke up yesterday, why'd he come in today looking like he'd been dragged through a stable?" he asked and stared at the door. Nyota's brow furrowed. Whatever was wrong with Pavel, a bad break up did not appear to be as high on the list as it was a few minutes before.


	2. Chapter 2: Reminisce

**Yay! Thank you for the follows, review, and favorite! Chapters 2 and 3 are shorter ones, so I'm posting them at the same time. Hope you enjoy!**

-X-

Chapter 2: Reminisce

"Pavel!" Hikaru was jogging in his attempt to catch up to his friend. "Pavel! Wait up! Please!" Hikaru glanced down the halls he was passing. They were finally deserted. He broke into a sprint and barreled down the passage after his friend's retreating figure. The second after Hikaru started to run, so did Pavel, and Hikaru would have cursed again except that he couldn't breathe. Between the two of them Pavel was the faster runner, and both of them knew that. Hikaru skidded around a corner just in time to see Pavel turn around the next one. ' _When the hell did he get this fast?_ ' Hikaru wondered. Then he exhaled loudly – at least it felt like it was loudly, what with all the air in his body leaving at once – and thought, ' _This calls for drastic measures_.' Bracing himself, he tripped over his own feet, tumbling down the hall and ending up lying on his back in the middle of the floor, groaning. ' _I think this floor has gotten denser since the last time I had to do that…_ ' His next thought was that it had been at least four years since he had intentionally tripped himself up and that he had probably just forgotten how much it hurt.

"Hikaru?" Pavel's voice was accompanied by soft footsteps. Hikaru just lay on the floor, gasping and trying to remember exactly what happened the last time he'd done this. "Hikaru, are you alright?"

"Fine," he puffed, rolling over to his stomach and pushing himself onto his knees. "Just knocked the wind out of me."

"So, you can space jump onto an incredibly small platform and get up and fight, but tripping over your own feet renders you useless, huh?" Pavel asked, crouching next to his friend. "Try again, Hikaru, and maybe I'll believe you. Not that I should, given the fact that you just stole my phone and faked tripping yourself up in order to get me to stop running." The pilot looked up at this friend and saw that there was something off… something not quite right. This was the look that Pavel got whenever he had to pull off a navigational miracle that shouldn't really be possible but the captain needed them to do anyway. It was Lieutenant Chekov's look, not Pavel's.

"Look, I'm sorry, okay? That's why I had trip to make you come back, so I could apologize. I know I haven't been the best friend lately and I know that you're under a lot of stress, too. I'm sorry I took your phone and I'm sorry I didn't just ask you about, uh, Taylor. And I'm sorry I didn't notice that there's other stuff that's bothering you. Please, Pavel, can't we talk? I can tell there's something else wrong. It's not just having to break-up, it's not just McCoy, it's not just me being a crappy friend, and I'm pretty sure it's not just the mission. So what else? What else is bothering you?" Hikaru pleaded. Pavel crouched, silent, for just a second or two before he fell the final few inches to the floor and sat there, staring at his hands. Innumerable emotions flickered across Pavel's face in the span of a few seconds before it finally fell blank again. "Pavel?"

"You know me too well, Hikaru," he murmured and pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead. Then he smiled, it was small and a little unsteady, but it was there. "I'm really tired. We can talk, but… tomorrow?" he asked, his voice so soft and distant that Hikaru had to strain to hear it. The pilot had to pause and consider it for a minute. Yeah, Pavel was smiling, but… there was something in his eyes; a shadow that Hikaru had never noticed before. And there was tautness to his voice that was almost imperceptible, but couldn't be hidden by his accent. No, Hikaru didn't want his friend alone while that shadow was still there.

"We don't have to talk," Hikaru confirmed. "But could we hang out? I promise to avoid all heavy subjects and we could do our old Tuesday night tradition from the Academy. Come on, please?" Hikaru entreated, doing his best impression of Pavel' own puppy dog face and shoving his friend in the shoulder.

"We're going to be spending five years in a confined space together. Why should we hang out now?" Pavel's smile was wider and his eyes were a little brighter and Hikaru had to congratulate himself.

"Because!" he exclaimed and Pavel jumped at the sudden increase in volume. "The first few weeks will be ironing out all of the bumps and listening to the captain whine and McCoy gripe and Nyota do her best not to kill all of us. We won't have any time to hang out and relax, so we might as well do it now!"

"So, we're reviving Tuesday Night Silent Soap Operas?" Pavel asked. Hikaru grinned.

 _The first Tuesday night Silent Soap Opera had actually occurred on a drizzly Monday. Hikaru had awoken in the middle of the night on Sunday evening… or so he thought. When he rolled over, dragging the majority of his blankets with him, he had peered through sleep crusted eyes to see his digital alarm clock cheerfully blinking the numbers "2:36" followed by a solid and hateful "AM". Instead of Sunday night, it was Monday morning._

 _"You have got to be kidding me," he had said, rolling onto his back, only at the last second remembering his young roommate. Hikaru sat straight up and stared over to where the other bed was, waiting for his eyes to adjust. He really hoped that he hadn't woken the kid up. When his eyes could finally see past the end of his own nose, Hikaru blinked in surprise and rubbed at his eyes a little more to make sure he wasn't seeing things. The darkness obscured a lot, but what it did not obscure was the fact that there was no Russian whiz kid in the bed across the room. The comforter was thrown back and the sheets were rumpled, but to all appearances Hikaru was in his room alone._

 _This was concerning. In the three weeks prior that they had both been in attendance at Starfleet's Academy, Hikaru had made one or two good friends. Pavel had not. In fact, except for classes he rarely left the dorm. Even for meals he spent as little time as possible outside of the room; he dashed out, stuffed some food into his mouth at the mess hall, and then dashed back to the room within the span of about fifteen minutes. Hikaru had actually been getting a little bit concerned during the second and third weeks of classes. Even if Pavel was young, he should at least be a little more social. But he wasn't, and that was part of the reason the Hikaru was concerned that Pavel was not in bed. The other reason he was concerned was that Pavel was not in bed at 2:36 in the morning was that their earliest class (they had remarkably similar schedules) was at 7:00 AM._

 _Hikaru clambered out of bed, pausing just long enough to drag his jacket off the back of his desk chair. He wrapped it around the ratty T-shirt and sweats he usually slept in and stumbled toward the door, yawning. When he tripped his way into the hall, he had to squint at the flickering blue light. It wasn't_ that _bright; it didn't even come from the dimmed wall sconces that lined the hall. It came from the open archway that led to the common room for that floor. Figuring that would be the best place to start looking for his missing roommate, Hikaru staggered toward the light. When he finally reached the arch he had to pause for another minute to let his eyes adjust. The room didn't have much in the way of entertainment. There was a broken foosball table in the corner, a vending machine with the best snacks on the permanently-jammed slot C3, and an old television that got a maximum of twelve channels on a good day. Most of the time the actual numbered hovered around eight. The furniture was in about the same shape, if not worse. There was a threadbare grey couch that had a hole chewed in one of the legs, a recliner that could not recline, and four Parson Chairs around a card table with at least one leg each that was too short._

 _Peeking just over the top of the couch was a head of curly hair, its owner evidently watching the television. On the screen was a rerun of a soap opera that had been going on for ten years – only four of the original actors were left on the show. Apparently, that was what was shining that ungodly light down the hall._

 _"Hey," Hikaru murmured. The head whipped around and suddenly Chekov, Pavel Andreivich was peering over the back of the couch at him. "What are you still doing up, kiddo?"_

 _"I could not sleep. I had... night… horse?" The kid looked down, sheepish, and shifted uncomfortably. Hikaru remembered a teacher telling him that Pavel was still learning Federation Standard, but as far as he could see all that Pavel was missing was the vocabulary. The grammar he had down, which was impressive considering how confusing it could get._

 _"I hate nightmares," Hikaru stated, walking around the couch. He hoped that it wouldn't seem like he talking down to Pavel. From what he could see he was a sensitive kid, but he was also very smart and seemed pretty nice when Hikaru could get him to talk._

 _"Da. Nightmare. I had a nightmare," Pavel confirmed, nodding once and shifting his attention back to the television. Hikaru shifted his eyes over to it as well when he sat down. The figures moved silently, pantomiming a drama that Hikaru didn't understand. "Do you know what is happening?" Pavel inquired. When Hikaru looked over at him in confusion, Pavel gestured at the television. "In the television show, do you know what is happening?"_

 _"Ah, no. Sorry. I don't really watch soap operas," Hikaru said._

 _"Soap opera?" Pavel looked confused._

 _"It's a show that runs for a long time. It usually doesn't have a plot that all of the seasons follow. It just follows the lives of the characters and they can get in a lot of completely unrealistic situations," Hikaru explained, settling in as a Vulcan got into a shouting match with a human in clothes that looked like they came straight out of the 2100's. "See, a Vulcan yelling at someone. Unrealistic." Pavel snorted._

 _"Da. Unrealistic. We have these shows in Russia. I put the TV on silent and come up with my own words for what they are saying." Pavel smiled. "Sometimes my siblings or mother would do it, too. It was very funny."_

 _"Want to try doing it in Standard?" Hikaru asked. "It could help you learn words you don't know. If there's something you don't know how to say, don't talk around it. Explain it to me and I'll help you find the right word," he offered. He didn't know what made him offer or how it would be received and breathed a sigh of relief when Pavel broke out into a wide smile._

 _"Da. Yes. That would be nice."_

They stayed up straight through the night and both fell asleep in their early morning class. Because of scheduling issues, they moved Silent Soap Opera Night (as it came to be called) to Tuesday and bought a small television so they could watch in their room instead of the common room. As Pavel's Standard got better, it became less a learning experience and more a competition for who could come up with the most ridiculous lines that still made sense in context. The situation usually deteriorated quickly into senseless laughing and popcorn throwing.

"Yeah. We're reviving Tuesday Night Silent Soap Operas," Hikaru confirmed. From farther down the hall there came footsteps and McCoy came around the corner, holding a blue umbrella at his side.

"Why are ya'll sitting on the floor?" he asked. Hikaru and Pavel scrambled up and grinned simultaneously.

"Hikaru tripped over his own feet," Pavel chirped and dodged out of the way when Hikaru swung a hand at his head.

"I don't get paid enough for this," Hikaru heard the doctor sigh. McCoy grabbed Hikaru and Pavel by the back of their shirts and held them apart. "Play nice," he said loud enough for them both to hear, dropped their collars, and then walked off toward the elevator.

"Come on. Let's go rent a stupid soap opera," Pavel said.


	3. Chapter 3: Curtailed

Chapter 3: Curtailed

Spock departed the meeting more perplexed than he was when he went in. The captain left in just as bad of a mood as he was earlier in the week, despite everyone's best efforts to alter his temperament. It was confusing… and a bit disheartening. Even in the face of an assignment he had been looking forward to for years on end, Spock's friend remained in as foul a mood as ever.

' _Jim is irrational at the best of times, and this is hardly the best time for him,_ ' Spock thought as he boarded the elevator at the end of the hall. The remembrance and rechristening ceremony had most of Spock's colleagues on edge, though from what the first officer could see, the cause of each of his friends' stress varied. Nyota's anxiety mostly came from pre-mission nerves and from her friends' stress. She had very little else to be concerned with and had always cared deeply for her friends' wellbeing.

If Sulu and Scotty were to be believed, then Lieutenant Chekov was in a relationship. If that were true then the reason he was on edge was due to the stress put on his Earth-bound relationships with friends and family by the impending mission. His youth would also play a part; he would be spending the entirety of his early twenties in a high-stress environment, away from most people his own age. Spock couldn't help the twinge of worry he felt for the young lieutenant, though he did his best to stamp it down. Chekov was a highly sympathetic boy as well; the increase in worry in everyone around him would affect him more than many others among the crew...

Not that the uneasy atmosphere wouldn't affect the others. Spock knew that to be untrue because he himself was feeling _almost_ apprehensive. He knew that the others would feel the general atmosphere more strongly and it would therefore feed and feed off of their own negative emotions. Hikaru would probably be most affected by Pavel's mood in particular, and Pavel seemed to be feeling the doctor's fear and annoyance in addition to his other emotions. This was not a surprise to Spock; since about eight months prior the two had been increasingly close. Doctor McCoy had become borderline overprotective of the young lieutenant; as the elevator doors closed in front of him, Spock had to wonder whether it was because of the doctor's lack of contact with his own family. As far as Spock was aware, McCoy had not developed much of a social life outside of the command crew of the Enterprise and had limited contact with his ex-wife. Spock did not know of any other family members that the doctor may have and therefore concluded that any he did have he was not very close to.

The elevator began to descend. ' _The captain and Doctor McCoy are friends, and the doctor has an almost obsessive need to care for anything broken. The captain has never been exactly whole, but is certainly not at this moment. McCoy is most likely more affected by the captain's agitation than anyone else in the crew_ ,' Spock reflected. The captain. The sources of his stress were numerous. He had died the last time he was on a mission, after all. As Scotty had said earlier in the week, "That's bound to leave a bad taste in your mouth." The captain also had the hopes and expectations of Starfleet riding on his shoulders, and was being trusted with a newly rebuilt ship that had played a part in the death of not only dozens of crew members but also of thousands of civilians. The captain received death threats more often than bills in the mail, and was being held accountable – if unofficially – for those thousands of civilian deaths. Starfleet said that Kirk had acted admirably, especially since he had actually died in the line of duty.

When the story reached the media, though, Janus was their patron god. One week, the captain was another victim of Khan's attack and the next there were conspiracy theories about Jim Kirk instigating the whole thing and then covering it up with the help of corrupt officials. There was guilt and worry and apprehension and anger and fear in the captain and it was eating away at him. Spock had never liked metaphors, but this one seemed appropriate. If ever a man had been haunted by ghosts of the pasts, it was Jim. If left unchecked, they would devour him and all that would be left would be the empty shell of the man that had once been.

' _And if all of that were not enough to cause concern…_ ' Spock considered the exclusion _certain_ _facts_ in the meeting. Or rather, the odd exclusion of a single number. The command crew had covered everything that had needed to be discussed in that final meeting. Everything except one number that may have instigated the captain's horrible week-long temper to begin with.

The elevator dinged as it reached the first floor and instead of turning left toward the exit, Spock turned right and made his way through the maze of corridors that lead to the admirals' offices. He knocked on the door third from the end of the hall.

"Come in," a voice called. Spock opened the door.

"Admiral," Spock acknowledged.

"Commander."

"Admiral, I have a concern," the first officer said, and then allowed the door to swing shut behind him.

-X-

 **As promised, here's chapter 3. Chapter 4 is longer, so that may take a little while to get up.**


	4. Chapter 4: Perturbed

**Because I'm impatient and apparently can't stick to a schedule, here's chapter 4.**

 **Thanks for the reviews, follows, and favorites! Whenever I get one it really makes my day.**

-X-

Chapter 4: Perturbed

For Scotty, the day, the night, and the week before had been interesting.

Montgomery Scott knew that 'normal' was a relative term. Had the captain entered the meeting room the day before covered in confetti and glitter and then carried on as if it weren't there, covering every available surface in sparkles, Scotty would have considered that conference completely average. However, since the captain had entered and left fuming just like he had all week, Scotty decided to deem the recent past on Earth as 'unusual'. Of course, with such a big mission coming up he had only been spending about half of his time of Earth, but the time spent on the Enterprise turned out to be just as odd.

A month prior Jim had said to him, "Don't overdo it. The other Starfleet engineers know how to prep a ship for a mission, too. Let them do their job and then you can do yours once we board in a few weeks." Scotty had opted to take that as a suggestion instead of an order. And he was glad he had. The Enterprise's engineering decks held an interesting surprise.

In that: it held _no_ interesting surprises.

There was _nothing_ wrong with it. He had gone over every nook and cranny and bolt and nut and washer and pipe and tube that he could reach… He'd also gone over quite a few that he _shouldn't_ have been able to reach, but managed to with the help of a ladder, a camera, and a disgruntled parrot that now knew significantly more curse words. He personally checked all of it and didn't find a single thing wrong. It was unnatural. Almost supernatural, except Scotty knew the occult didn't exist and even if it did, it would be far too terrified of his righteous retribution to put a single ectoplasm-y pseudopod on his ship.

Every day for the past week Scotty had gone up to the Enterprise and nothing was apparently wrong with it. Nothing to tweak. No levers or bolts to tighten or wiring to run. Nothing to realign after some clueless cadet screwed it up.

Not only was this interesting, it was unnerving. So, Scotty decided to head back up to the Enterprise the day before the mission. He knew he didn't need to and he knew he probably shouldn't and he knew that the engineers assigned to get the Enterprise flight ready were sick and tired of his meddling. So why was he still going to go up? Because on a certain level Scotty felt like he had to. He owed it to the crew and he owed it to Jim: no power failure this time.

Scotty woke up with his alarm – this was the first time that month he didn't wake up before it or sleep through it. He really hoped he did the same thing the next day when the shuttles with the rest of the crew were going up to the docking station. It really wouldn't do for the chief engineer to be late for that. He clambered out of bed and stumbled across the room to shut off his blaring alarm. Placing it on the wall opposite his bed was the only way for the alarm to actually work; if it just woke him up he would turn it off and fall straight back to sleep. As he punched the snooze button and opened up the drawer of his dresser that held all of his uniform shirts, something else caught the edges of his hearing. There was muffled cursing coming from the door to the living room.

Scotty bounded across the room, snatched up his phaser from the bedside table, and flung open the door that opened on to the bulk of his apartment. Stumbling through to the living room, dressed only in plaid boxers and a white t-shirt, Scotty discovered that the cursing did not come from a burglar caught in the act. Instead, it came from a cocoon of blankets on the couch.

"Aghh!" came another muffled shout. There was a resounding thump as the blanket wrapped figure dropped the two feet required to reach the hardwood floor. "Oof!" Scotty raised his eyebrows. He didn't remember letting anyone stay over at his apartment the night before, and he didn't have a headache or nausea, so he knew he didn't just forget because he'd been drunk. Then a shock of black hair peeked out over the edge of the quilt that was normally on the recliner across the room.

"Hikaru?" Scotty asked the struggling mass of bedding on the floor. He leaned over to turn on the light and saw the pilot stick his head out of the cocoon and squint at the glare.

"What the hell was that noise?" Hikaru asked, still trying to force the rest of himself out of the blankets. "That siren sounding thing?"

"That was my alarm. I can't wake up unless it's that loud," Scotty groused, leaning over to help untangle his friend. "And what are you doing here? I thought you were staying with Pavel after your lease ran out."

"Yeah, I was." Hikaru clambered up. "Until he kicked me out because he got mad at me. To be fair, it was partially my fault. But he's been so over sensitive lately I have no idea what's going to set him off!" he exclaimed, falling backwards back onto the couch. He glared at his foot which was still tangled in a crocheted, wool throw that was usually folded neatly in the basket under the coffee table. Hikaru shook it off, leaving the coverlet crumpled on the floor with the rest of the blankets he'd appropriated.

"Well, you're welcome to stay here until the mission if you two don't make up. But don't be too hard on him. We're all on edge right now," Scotty said, ambling toward the bathroom to grab a bathrobe. When he reentered the living room, Hikaru was still leaning against the back of the couch "Coffee?"

"No thanks, I generally avoid caffeine at…" Hikaru trailed off and blinked open his eyes, searching the room for a clock. With one hand Scotty pointed toward the television while scooping ground coffee into the coffee maker with the other. He heard Hikaru shift to see the clock perched next to the television. " _Four twenty_! Why are you having coffee at _four_ _twenty_? What are you even doing _awake_ at four twenty? What am _I_ even doing awake at four twenty!" he exclaimed and slid sideways across the couch. "Augh… why? Why would you do this to me on my last day of freedom?"

"You know, some of us work for a living." Scotty pressed the 'Brew' button of the coffee maker and got out two mugs, just on a hunch. One said 'Don't bother me until this cup is empty' and the other had a cartoon of duct tape with the caption 'My Best Friend'. The captain had gotten Scotty both of them as part of a set of four custom mugs for his birthday. Despite the fact that it didn't seem like that significant of a gift, it was one of the most useful ones he had ever received and he fully intended to bring them with him on the mission.

"Yeah, but Jim said to take the day off. Oh man, I'm never going to get back to sleep," Hikaru grumbled. He rolled over so his face was in the couch cushions and his feet were up on the pillow he'd been using not five minutes before.

"It was a suggestion, not an order," Scotty said, parroting the justification he'd been rehearing for the past week. He spoke over a loud groan of disappointment that was emanating from the sofa. Over the sound of the brewing coffee, Scotty could barely hear the muttered words, ' _Gonna kill 'im… up at four in morning… never gonna get back to sleep.'_ Scotty continued by saying, "So, I'm just going to go up and check over everything again. Just to be on the safe side." The coffee maker dinged and Hikaru cringed.

"At the meeting yesterday I thought you said there weren't any problems," the pilot protested. Resigned to his fate of total consciousness, Hikaru pulled himself up and lurched over to the thick half wall that separated the living room and the kitchen. When he first moved in, Scotty decided that (since there was no room for a dining table and he didn't want to eat at the coffee table all the time) he would just widen the top of the half-wall with a spare piece of wood, put some stools next to it, and treat it as a breakfast bar. Hikaru pulled himself up onto one of the stools and sat there, rubbing his eyes and face. When he held out his hand, Scotty was ready and handed him the 'Don't bother me' cup full of black coffee.

"Milk, sugar?" Scotty asked, moving toward the refrigerator.

"Sugar, please," Hikaru said through a grimace. Black coffee was evidently not to his taste. After Hikaru finished dumping about half of a sugar-bowl's worth of granules into his mug's murky depths, Scotty snagged the bowl and dropped the rest into his own cup. He leaned up against the breakfast bar/repurposed half wall and stirred his coffee, considering his answer.

"I know I said there's not a problem. And there's not. But… that's the problem, you see?" Scotty pointed out, taking a swig of coffee from the 'best friend' duct tape mug.

"No, I don't see. Come again?" Hikaru asked.

"There's NOT anything wrong with it… but that's what's wrong with it!" Scotty exclaimed, gesturing wildly and only just missing his friend's head with the hot cup of coffee.

"I'm not awake enough for this," Hikaru murmured. "Try it one more time, but this time explain so normal people can understand." Scotty scoffed and set down his cup, leaning against the makeshift table.

"Before every mission there are always bugs in the system." Scotty clenched his fist and continued, "Sometimes they're little tiny flies, other times they're huge tarantulas you just want to squish to death and burn the remains and then burn the ashes and throw them in a volcano. Big, hairy, ugly… you know, metaphorically speaking. But this time… there's not. Not one. I've checked everything. I've had other people check everything. And then I've triple checked what they've double checked and there's nothing wrong with it. The ship is perfect." Scotty exhaled and tried to relax his muscles. All he succeeded in doing was giving himself a twitch in his eye. He downed the rest of his coffee in one go.

"And this is bad because… why? It sounds like nothing but upsides to me," Hikaru said, taking a sip of his coffee.

"Murphy's Law, you daft beggar! Murphy's Law!" Scotty exclaimed, running his hands over his head and rubbing his forehead.

"Doesn't that say that anything that can happen, will happen?" Hikaru asked.

Scotty froze. Hikaru had no idea what it was that he had said that made Scotty pause mid freak-out, but he was glad he'd said it. It was too early to deal with… well, anything, really.

"Huh." The engineer dropped his arms to his sides. "It does say that, doesn't it? I always look at it the negative way, 'anything that can go wrong, will,' sort of thing, but-" Scotty cut himself off and stared at Hikaru. "In a way, it does say that anything can happen, doesn't it?"

"That's how I understood it," Hikaru stated and sipped some more of his sugary coffee. There was a long, drawn out pause where there was no sound but the dripping of the faucet. The handle for the hot water always stuck and when Scotty made coffee that early in the morning he often forgot to give it the extra yank to turn it all the way off. It would have been easy to fix, but after debating it for a few days Scotty had opted to leave it since it gave the apartment 'character'. As the silence was drawn out, Hikaru figured he'd silenced the engineer for at least as long as it would take to finish his coffee. Thanking whatever deity out there, the pilot took a deep breath and relaxed. Peace and quiet. That was the way to wake up.

 _SLAP!_ Scotty clapped his hands together and the noise bounced around the room.

"Well! That ship isn't going to check itself! Well, it will, but only if I make sure it can," Scotty said, putting his empty mug in the sink and walking around the half wall to his bedroom. He patted Hikaru on the back as the pilot put his head in his hands and resumed muttering about it being too early. Scotty dressed hurriedly, throwing on whatever was within reach and as such ended up with one black and one brown sock.

When he exited his room he found Hikaru up and washing both mugs, which only compounded the oddness of that week. After recovering from the shock of finding his friend fully human and not a sleep-addled zombie, Scotty gave him some final directions. "You can stay as long as you want, but when you leave put the spare key back where you found it," he instructed, snatching the silver key off the end table and tossing it to the pilot. Hikaru snatched it out of the air without looking up. "I'll be back by midnight and will be finishing up packing, so sorry in advance if I wake you. I've already cleaned out the fridge and the cupboards of everything other than the coffee, so if you want to eat here, you're going to have to order take-out. Good luck with Pavel, hope you two make up. And send him my apologies as well for the whole phone business. It _was_ my idea. I was going to apologize myself, but he won't pick up the phone when I call and I don't know what hotel he's staying at. See you tonight!" And Scotty walked out the door.

It was twenty-two hours later by the time Scotty stumbled, bleary-eyed, into his apartment. There hadn't been anything wrong with the Enterprise and Scotty had checked and double checked and triple checked everything as many times over as possible. And the other engineers had agreed with him; it was unnatural how well everything had gone. A few had even stayed up as late as he did (about 2:30 AM) running diagnostics and simulations, trying to find a flaw. Finally, they'd had to call it a night and Scotty had returned to Earth, almost depressed at the lack of things to fix.

The blankets were all folded and back where they were supposed to be and the coffee mugs from that morning were in the proper cupboard. On the kitchen counter was a note in horrible hand writing: _Made up with Pavel. He forgives you, too. There's Mexican take-out in the fridge in case you want it._

Scotty smiled. He warmed up the food and sat on one of the stools at the half-wall-breakfast-bar, falling asleep about halfway through his meal and without setting his alarm for later that morning.


	5. Chapter 5: Restraint

**This one is a shorter chapter, but the next is** ** _really_** **long. Enjoy!**

-X-

Chapter 5: Restraint

It was the day. The day the crew of the Enterprise was finally going to board their ship and leave on the most daring mission ever recorded in Starfleet history. Well, the longest, at least. As McCoy headed toward the departure point for boarding, he knew the look on his face was one to scare even the most determined Ensign in to running for cover.

It wasn't that McCoy was afraid of spending five years in a confined space with his friends. That was no problem. It might even be amusing as some point. What scared him was spending five years straight with his friends in a tin can of death floating far away from any breathable atmosphere or help, should it be required. And based on the Enterprise's track record, it would be. It was a five year mission – not that McCoy was obsessing over the amount of time he would be trapped in the deep, dark vacuum that makes one all too aware of the mortality of man. No, of course he wasn't obsessing over that. McCoy was just concerned with the amount of time they were going to be spending on the mission; people were going to get hurt and it was almost guaranteed that not everyone would make it back alive. That was the most frustrating and terrifying thing about this assignment. Not everyone who ended up in his med bay was going home. Even if he did all he could, some wouldn't make it; he knew that. He would still do his damnedest to save them, but... whenever he thought about what this mission would be like, a hard, cold rock settled in his diaphragm. (It wasn't in his stomach. It was in his diaphragm. There's a difference.)

Before he left Starfleet headquarters that morning he had been called to an Admiral's office - the same office Jim had left in a very bad mood the week before. No matter how many jokes Scotty had made about being called to the principal's office or how many time Spock stated that excessive worry was illogical, the hard look would not left Jim's face. He ignored the entire bridge crew's attempts to cheer him up. McCoy was the one who got to talk to him after everyone else had already tried, and after every trick in the book had already been pulled.

Spock used logic, Uhura sisterly concern, Sulu tough love, Chekov dusted off his infamous puppy eyes, and Scotty had tried getting Jim so blind drunk that he would talk about anything. The last one might have worked, but unfortunately neither Jim nor Scotty remembered anything past seven in the evening. So then it came down to McCoy. His attempt involved professional concern. Jim's crap mod was ruining bridge crew morale; it would make perfect sense that his friend and CMO would approach him, which he did at the meeting two days earlier. Things did not go as planned and they had ended up in a shouting match, not seeing each other since.

Being called to see the same Admiral that had started all this seemed like a blessing and a curse. A curse because he was probably going to have to face the same or a very similar talk. A blessing because now he could finally find a way to get Jim out of his week-long funk.

It was early, about seven, and despite the fact that today was the commencement of the longest mission in Starfleet history (again, no way was McCoy obsessing about how long he'd be out there, trapped in space) the halls were quiet. The cold sunlight streamed in through high windows, and McCoy's shadow walked beside him as he approached the Admiral's door.

This Admiral was pretty average as far as Starfleet went. He hadn't been there so long that people were sure he was immortal, but he wasn't so new that no one would acknowledge his advancement. He was just sort of there. And so McCoy had not gone to the troubled of learning his name for any period of time longer than the average conversation.

McCoy knocked on the door to Admiral What's-his-face's office – third from the end of the hall – and was immediately asked to enter. The usual pleasantries followed. Salute, walk to the desk, and then shake hands over it. McCoy was then asked to sit down, offered coffee, refused the coffee, was offered coffee again, accepted the coffee, found the coffee had far too much sugar and milk in it, and set it down on the edge of Admiral What's-his-name's desk. ' _What do people have against nice black coffee anyway?'_ McCoy thought. Honestly, it was the only thing strong enough to wake him up in the morning. The Admiral and McCoy then spent the next five minutes discussing horses and the farm on the outskirts of Atlanta McCoy had owned before his divorce. McCoy sat, back straight and shoulders square, knowing this was not what he was brought in for. And, given the idle chatter he was being forced through, McCoy knew this was not going to be a pleasant conversation. Finally the Admiral got to the point.

"I supposed you're wondering why I brought you here today," the Admiral began.

"Well, I know I wasn't invited here for my conversation," McCoy said, relaxing in his seat just enough so that he was comfortable. He picked up his cup of coffee, now luke-warm sugary sludge, and sipped. Feigning a casual air when completely pissed off was not one of his natural talents, but it was a skill he had picked up over years of dealing with James Tiberius Kirk.

"Alright, I'll get straight to the point," Admiral What's-his-face sighed. ' _About time!_ ' McCoy thought and settled in for what he was sure was going to be a very long, very boring lecture that he already knew ninety percent of. His only concern was what lecture could possibly have gotten Jim into as bad of a mood as he'd been in. "I brought you here to talk about the acceptable losses on this mission."

McCoy froze.

' _Ah. So that's it,'_ was the vague, half-formed thought that swam behind his eyes. He could feel every muscle in his body slowly began to tense as a heavy silence sat on the desk between him and the Admiral. He tried to inhale and clear his head, but the cold air that rushed into his lungs did nothing ot help.

"I, uh," McCoy coughed, the breath catching on something in his throat. "I guess I should have expected this."

Should have. But didn't.

"Captain Kirk should have discussed this with the bridge crew at the final Earth-bound meeting, but Commander Spock informed us that no acceptable loss number was given to the crew."

' _Of course the pointy-eared hobgoblin had that in mind,'_ McCoy thought. _'Always so damned prepared.'_

"While we were not surprised that Captain Kirk would find it difficult to inform his commanding officers of this, we were very surprised that he had forgone mentioning it all together. We were especially surprised when Commander Spock mentioned that there was no evidence Captain Kirk had given _you,_ in particular, this information. As Chief Medical Officer, the number of acceptable losses for a mission is something you should be informed of." The Admiral appeared to be waiting for a response, but McCoy did not give one. His lips were pressed into a flat line and they were being held there only because he did not want to open his mouth, say what he was thinking, and lose his job. The Admiral cleared his throat and continued, "This is a five year mission. The crew is massive. The ship has been rebuilt. The space the Enterprise will be exploring has never been mapped before. You will run into problems on all fronts – hostile peoples or planets, dissention, even technical problems or a malfunction of the ship's systems. People will get hurt. People will die."

As the Admiral whose name McCoy would never remember rattled off all of the worries that had been chased around in the doctor's head, McCoy felt his face slowly slacken. This was real, now. Real and solid and just a few hours away from happening. When the Admiral finished, he tightened his jaw and steeled himself, looking straight at McCoy. Again, the doctor did not respond. Giving in to his exasperation, the Admiral huffed and fell backwards into his chair.

"Look, I know you don't want to have this conversation. I know the idea is sickening to you. You are dedicated to your crew and if sheer force of will could save a life, not a single person who came under your care would die. If we could bottle that up and make it a miracle cure I'd be ecstatic. But we can't. Not realistically. So we are going to have to talk about this." The Admiral rubbed a hand over his face and eyed the CMO across the desk. Clean shaven, clean uniform, washed and brushed hair. A superficial observer would say that McCoy looked like an exemplary Starfleet officer. A closer observation – nicked cheek without a bandage from shaving too fast, darker circles under his eyes, and a face with the gaunt appearance of someone who simply forgot about regular meals – revealed that this was a man who was tired. Tired and anxious about something he would not be able to change.

To McCoy, the room felt too bright. Everything was white and the early morning sunlight was bouncing off the walls, the shelves, the desk. The light felt too cool, impersonal. There was no warmth in it or comfort. McCoy knew he would never be able to escape this conversation, however much he wanted to. So, breathing for the first time in what felt like an eternity, McCoy shifted to the edge or his chair and nodded once. The Admiral launched into an explanation: what sort of equations they had used to find this number, what it meant, what policies should be executed so this number would not be exceeded. McCoy knew what sort of policy should be implemented – save everyone you can and never give up on those you think you can't. So, he let his mind drift, only paying enough attention to parrot back key phrases and ideas that the Admiralty would want him to remember. There was only one that stood out, though.

68\. That was the number of acceptable losses for a five year exploratory mission.

There were disclaimers – 'This is just an estimate' and 'Don't feel too bad if the actual number goes over since we don't quite know what to expect' – but all McCoy could hear was that number. 68 people. That's 68 people who would go up and never come back. 68 people who would hold their loved ones for the last time that day. 68 people who would stand in sight the sun they were born under for the last time. The sun that had risen on the day they found out there would be five years in which they would never see it. 68 people who would never see their yellow sun, their homes, their families, or their friends again. 68 families torn, 68 people who lost their best friend.

There might even be 68 pets who wait at the door for a master that would never walk through it again.

And that was supposed to be considered acceptable.


	6. Chapter 6: Commission

**You know how I said this chapter would be long? Well, it got a bit out of hand and is now two chapters. Here is part one.**

 **Thanks so much for the follows and favorites! They are my favorite thing!**

-X-

Chapter 6: Commission

When the Admiral finished his lecture McCoy left the room in a daze. He did all of his remaining paperwork, said goodbye to a few friends from Academy days who wouldn't be coming with them, and then looked at the clock. It was almost noon and the shuttles left at one. He shuffled toward the front of headquarters where a few small transport ships were ferrying people to the launch. All of his things were already in his quarters aboard the Enterprise. The only objects he still needed to bring on board were a worn Polaroid photograph that had taken up permanent residence in his pants pocket, his wallet and ID card, and two small presents for Nyota since her birthday was today and they wouldn't be able to celebrate it.

She had said that she didn't want anything, but he had bought both of his gifts ages ago. There was a small pearl hairpin he had purchased on a beach trip; he remembered her mentioning in passing a weakness for pearl earrings. He hoped it carried over to other accessories as well. The pin was acting as a bookmark in a pocket-sized guide to discerning differences in accents of English. Despite having an incredible ear, after learning English she had never given much thought to the technical differences between accents, relying on the innate knowledge of a native speaker. The book was filled with technical terms he didn't understand and symbols that made no sense, but the heading "Atlanta" had been clear enough, so that's the page he put the hair pin on.

McCoy boarded the shuttle, half full of other Starfleet officers. Most of them wore grey and carried Pads or antiquated clipboards that they kept shuffling around, flipping through pages of information. When one young cadet in red – she couldn't have been more than nineteen and had the biggest eyes he'd ever seen on a human – actually got up and shifted a seat or two away from him, he realized his expression must be murderous. The doctor tried to relax his features, tried to smile, but it didn't work. In fact, it came out as more of an angry grimace. When people started to avert their gazes and avoid eye contact, he realized he was fighting a losing battle and gave in to his neutral scowl.

When they landed at the shipyard from which the shuttles would be departing, the rest of the passengers on the transport almost leapt out of the cabin, ignoring all safe exit protocol. One familiar looking ensign who had been cowering in the back dropped a wrinkled bunch of papers in his haste to leave. McCoy had seen him in the farthest row, clenching and unclenching his hands around the bundle, fidgeting and pulling on the hem of his red shirt. The doctor picked up a few sheets and handed it to the startled ensign who dashed out.

When McCoy saw the kid's face it suddenly occurred to him why this particular ensign looked familiar. Before leaving Earth, the officers of the Enterprise were required to review the files of the entire crew. Usually it was just the captain that did this and Jim had wanted to do it alone, but he hadn't wanted to review the several hundred files on the finalized roster in three days. Because that's how long Starfleet had given him to do it. Jim had decided to delegate the list among the bridge crew; McCoy had gotten 'K' through 'O'. Other than that, he only knew that Jim had given himself 'U' through 'Z', probably because that had the lowest concentration of crew members. Given Jim's list of allergies, McCoy has actually considered putting 'Recommended for Medical Observation' on 'Kirk, James T.'s file… But had opted against it because he would rather return to Earth in one piece. The terrified little red-shirted ensign was Lowen, Marcus J. He was in engineering, a transporter specialist, and allergic to bee stings.

McCoy stood just outside the shuttle doors as they closed, looking around for someone he knew beyond 'Marcus J. Lowen'. Sending off the Enterprise, star of the fleet, on a five year mission to unexplored space was a big deal. That was a given. It was also a given that the general populace, the families of some of the crew members, and some of the media would want to be there for it. However, allowing all of those people to come up to the station the Enterprise was docked at would be logistically impossible. The final decision was to send off the crew in style. There was a large shipyard just outside of San Francisco that was large enough for two different starships to be in production at the same time. Starfleet had thought it would be large enough. Turns out, it wasn't. This was the shipyard where the Enterprise had been repaired. It had been sitting there until a few weeks prior, when it had been taken out for a test flight. Those few weeks were not enough to repurpose the yard for anything other than what turned out to be the largest party Starfleet had ever seen. Outside the gates were dozens of news vans with huge cameras on cranes. Photographers lined the fences, pointing their cameras everywhere. They took pictures of shuttles arriving with crew members, of the crew and their families bidding each other goodbye. They even took pictures of the hundred shuttles that would take the crew up, lining the far edge of the yard in two rows of fifty.

It was certainly an impressive sight, but even from a hundred feet away he could hear the chaos. It only grew louder as he approached the gate where officers in grey were checking ID cards and tickets. There was a list of approved attendees and all those not on the list were forced to stand outside with the news crews and photographers. When he was let through and walked into the crowd he had to fight the urge to clap his hands over his ears and close his eyes. Somewhere in the distance he could hear a shrill whistle cut through the noise, but the shouting of the crowd tackled the sound before he could pick the direction it came from. The noise, the colors – his own blue shirt seemed comparatively dull. The red, gold, and blue uniforms were bright enough, but the endless variety of colors worn by the people who weren't in the crew made it look like a mythological animal had taken an unhealthy mix of narcotics and candy and then threw up all over the crowd.

The air vibrated with it all, the sights and sounds of people and the smells of a hundred different kinds of aftershave, deodorant, and perfume. Not to mention sweat. It was all so overwhelming that McCoy had to stumble to the side of the crowd over by the fence. There was a small bubble of inactivity and he relished in it for a few moments before the shifting crowd swallowed him again in a monstrous wave of excitement. There was no way around it, he decided. _'I'll just force my way through.'_ He pushed back his shoulders, straightened his spine, and let the full force of his emotions reign his expression. Very little elbowing turned out to be required as people scrambled to get out of the way of the CMO. Returning crew members snagged their friends and family and pulled them out of his path before he got within five feet of them. Not knowing which way to check first for the Captain, he just ended up walking around with no goal in mind, even though he made sure to look as if he had someplace very important to be that very second. Then he spotted a high, slicked back ponytail over a red dress flash away into the crowd. He knew that three thousand would be a low estimate for the number of people in that crowd, but he also knew his friends and that the ponytail and dress belonged to Nyota.

McCoy shifted the wrapped present he had almost forgotten about and began to do the little shouldering required to make his way through the crowd. He took special care to hold the small package to his chest to avoid bumping it on a stray arm or shoulder. He didn't know how much pressure the pearl on the end of the makeshift bookmark/hairpin could take before it snapped off. After struggling for a few seconds he realized he'd reached a point where the crowd was so dense that people could barely shift a few inches in any direction. The ponytail disappeared into the sea of people and no amount of craning his neck would let McCoy find it again.

"Aw, hell," he muttered and forced his way backwards past a glaring mother holding a small child. He ignored her – there was no way he would see anyone here within five years anyway, so what did it matter? – and changed trajectory. Just peeking out over the top of the crowd was a platform with a few people perched on it, all looking around for someone just like he was. After forcing his way through the few rows of people he needed to reach it he joined them, pulling himself up one-handed and looking for Nyota. There were people everywhere. Every square inch inside the fence was occupied. The edges flowed, but the middle was so packed people it only seemed to sway side to side at a snail's pace.

As McCoy looked out on the crowd, the cacophony of noise faded and even amongst all the bright colors, the red, gold, and blue uniforms stood out. He felt his knees go weak as those beacons of color loomed out of the crowd. Each one was a life that might be lost. Some were lives that _would be_ lost. The excitement of the crowd took on a different meaning to him in that moment. It morphed in to nervous energy with happiness forced to the surface of smiling faces. The bright colors were too saturated, too garish to be happy. It was all superficial. Some of the families there were bidding goodbye to one of their own that would never return.

McCoy's stomach turned over as the sound of the scene rushed back and the colors dimmed. He felt his heart try to slam out of his chest and was shocked that no one else could hear it. But then he spotted Nyota standing next to Spock and the hyper-reality faded almost back to normal. The Vulcan towered over the crowd and it suddenly occurred to McCoy that he should have been looking for Spock the entire time. It took about nine minutes of elbowing his way through the crush of people, but he finally stood, panting, in front of the two of them. Spock merely raised an eyebrow, but Nyota actually laughed at him.

"You look exhausted! Did you stay up late last night checking over the new recruit's medical files?" Nyota took the half step forward needed to give him a hug, regardless of the fact that the final Earthbound meeting of the bridge crew had been only two days ago. Then again, it was her birthday and emotions were running high anyway, so why shouldn't she be in a 'huggy' mood? "Really though, you look awful," she confirmed, giving him a searching glance as she stepped back from the hug.

"Thanks. I really appreciate the complement," McCoy grumbled. More often than not, sarcasm could provide a more accurate response than a 'real' answer could. Plus, he didn't want to admit that he _had_ been checking over medical files, but had only gotten up to 'Bahn, Janice K.' before he fell asleep in his chair. "Happy birthday, anyway." He held out his present. It was wrapped in navy paper dotted with big, yellow cartoon stars. "I thought the paper was appropriate, considering," he said, forcing a smile. The nervous energy pulsing off the crowd was starting to get to him, having not faded as completely as McCoy had thought. The colors had dulled, but he could still _feel_ them scratching at his skin and throat. He fidgeted and pulled on his sleeves. When he realized what he was doing he also realized exactly how badly he needed to find Jim. Nyota didn't seem to notice as she beamed down at the gift and then looked back up at McCoy.

"Oh, Leonard, that's so sweet of you. But, I said-" she cut herself off, her eyes flickering to someplace over his shoulder. "I- I said you didn't have to get me anything. Uh," she came back to herself and smiled at him again, "but thank you. That really is nice." Beside her, Spock shifted and fixed his eyes on the same place Nyota had seconds before.

"What?" McCoy asked, glancing over his shoulder. It didn't look like there was anything special going on. There was just more people. "What are you looking at?"

"There was a young woman about thirty feet behind you who was very similar in appearance to… She walked back into the crowd when she observed us looking at her," Spock stated, not quite looking at him. If McCoy was a betting person, which he was, he would say that Spock was still watching the top of this young woman's head in the crowd.

"Similar to what? You said she had a similar appearance to something and never finished the sentence," McCoy griped.

"Similar to you," Nyota said sharply.

Similar to him? A young woman who looks similar to him? He felt his heart drop to his knees and jump up to his throat at the same time. He whirled around and began to seek for Joey's mass of curly hair in the crowd. There was no way Joanna could be there. She said she had exams. Then again, if she really wanted to come to the Enterprise's send-off she could manage it. One time in grade school she had managed to convince a substitute teacher that her class was supposed to watch old movies as a part of their history lesson. She had the Music Man playing on loop for four and a half hours before any of the other teachers found out about it. If anyone could convince a professor to let a student skip exams, it would be her. He had double checked that Joey's ID number was included on the list of approved attendees just so she wouldn't be hindered if she made any last minute travel arrangements, but he hadn't heard anything from her except for a curt "Good luck" message on his phone that morning.

"She was in a blue uniform and everything!" McCoy felt his body relax and his heart fall back into place. Joey wasn't in Starfleet. She would have told him if she'd applied. But then again, if she had decided to enlist, he would have made sure she was put on desk duty for the entirety of her career. It wouldn't be _that_ self serving if he did. His daughter _technically speaking_ would not meet the medical requirements for active duty unless she got someone to make a pretty hefty exception to a few rules.

"Huh," he said. He felt oddly relieved and let down at the same time. He turned back to face his friends and just decided to cut to the chase, "Do either of you know where Jim is? I need to talk to him. Now."

"Are you well, Doctor?" Spock asked abruptly. "It's only that you seem distracted."

"Yeah, well, I have a couple of thing on my plate right now." Like a daughter that apparently didn't care if he lived or died. "Do you guys know where that damn Captain is or not?"

"You have the same look on your face that Jim's had for the past week. Leonard, please, tell us what's wrong!" Nyota still clutched her present to her chest but reached out with her other hand to grab his arm. When he didn't answer, she sighed in defeat, "I saw him near the far end of the yard. By shuttle number one. Can you tell us what's wrong now?"

McCoy froze in the act of turning away, looked to Spock and said, "You tell her," before walking off.

-X-

 **That's it for right now! I'm sorry if the story is progressing kind of slowly for some people. It's just my style. I'm a lot more long winded than I thought I was when I started.**

 **Quite frankly, this was supposed to be a ~4,000 word one-shot. And then it turned into a three-parter. And then it just kind of morphed into the behemoth of a plot that now fills a notebook and a half (to be fair, my handwriting is awful and way too large, so that's like 75% of a notebook for anyone else).**

 **Additionally, I'm sorry to say that we're nearing the end of my buffer chapters. Apologies. It's entirely my fault since I'm impatient and can't stick to a schedule. Anyway, chapter updates will be slowing down since as far as my typing and editing are concerned, uh... *Baymax voice* I am not fast.**

 **Thanks for reading!**


	7. Chapter 7: Consternation

**Remember me saying the last chapter got out of hand? Well, it got more out of hand and this is now part 2 of 3. Also, please forgive the grammar mistakes and typos in the last chapter. And the ones that are probably in this one. I swear I proofread... just not very well, apparently.**

-0-

McCoy froze in the act of turning away, looked to Spock and said, "You tell her," before walking off.

As McCoy slid his way through the crowd toward the shuttles, he could still hear the discussion behind him.

"Tell me what?" Nyota demanded. Her voice was clear and carried over the noise of the crowd, which was no surprise to the doctor. What did surprise him was that he could hear Spock's monotone response.

"I made an inquiry to Starfleet about a topic that the captain failed to discuss during our final meeting. The issue involved our doctor and I must assume that this is what he is referring to. If you wish to discuss this further, I would suggest we go somewhere more private."

The conversation faded into the white noise as McCoy once again made his way across the packed shipyard. When he reached the barrier between the vast majority of the crowd and the launch site for the shuttles, he forked over his ID for the few seconds required to verify his identity and then pushed his way to the open area on the other side. Security was tight. Because the high-profile nature of the mission and the residual anger over the Enterprise's involvement in the destruction of San Francisco a year prior, a lot of eyes were on the Federation and Starfleet. It was all anyone could hope that the extra precautions and the plain-clothes security officers would be able to stymie any threats. Three weeks prior an uninvolved Starfleet cadet had been attacked by a mother who lost her child because of Khan. She couldn't attack the enhanced human, so she went for the next best thing: Starfleet. A lot of the people who lost friends and family because of the crash were willing to do horrible things to innocent people just to redirect their grief. ' _Then again_ ,' McCoy thought, ' _the only real innocents here are the families and new recruits. The rest of us…_ ' He refused to finish the thought. It brought up too many bad memories. He focused on finding Jim.

It was harder than he would have expected. Despite the crowd being concentrated on the far side of the barrier, some of the crew –those whose family couldn't attend the send-off – had made their way to the shuttles, milling around in the general area of the one they had been assigned. There was one stationary figure, though, leaning against the farthest shuttle to the right, shuttle one.

Kirk stood there, staring blankly at the Pad in his hands with his back to McCoy. The doctor slowed down to an ambling, casual pace, deliberately crunching the gravel beneath his boots to announce his approach. He stopped about ten feet off, letting his friend make the first move. It was several minutes before he broke the silence.

"They told you? About…" Kirk still stared at the Pad and did not turn around. With his right hand he waved vaguely at the air to his side and continued, "About the number?"

"Sixty-eight," McCoy intoned. Jim flinched.

"Yeah, sixty-eight. Sixty-eight bodies that Starfleet is just _a-okay_ with dumping into some lonely, unexplored corner of space. God, I hate this job sometimes!" the captain exclaimed. Jim gave a mirthless bark of laughter and turned to face McCoy. Jim normally had really blue eyes. McCoy had heard a few of his nurses giggling about it more than once. Now that the whites of his eyes were red from crying, the irises were a bright, electric blue. His gaze was piercing, intense… and a little bit scary. "You know what I'm going to say to you, right? What I want to say to them? Hell, you're thinking it, too, huh?" the captain demanded. The doctor could only gape at his friend and struggle to find something, anything to say to him. For a few seconds he floundered, grasping a words and syllables, trying to string together a comprehensible sentence before finally…

"Every loss is unacceptable," he murmured. They were the only words McCoy could think of, the only ones that didn't get stuck in his throat, but they had an immediate effect. The lines that had lived on Jim's face for the past week relaxed. It was remarkable how quickly the change happened. McCoy had a sudden realization as he took stock of himself as well; his deep scowl was gone. Refusing aloud to adhere to the idea of "acceptable losses" seemed to have hardened his resolve.

There was no longer a knot of uncertainty in his stomach; there were no more tumultuous upheavals of order in his mind. He knew there would be casualties. But he knew that he was not alone in fighting against that. And somehow that made it seem just a little more bearable. The first real smile in a week cracked Jim's face and the nervous energy that had plagued McCoy since that morning began to dissipate. Before the mood could get too jovial, McCoy knew he had to be the responsible one to ground them in reality for just a little while longer.

"We're going to have to tell them, you know," he stated. "At least Spock. Maybe Nyota and Scotty. Probably Hikaru."

"Yeah," Jim smirked, "But we'll burn that bridge when we come to it."

"Glad you're back," McCoy said, clapping a hand on Jim's shoulder. So what if it was cliché? He could be sappy if he wanted to be! Besides. He liked that malaphor.

"C'mon, Bones! Time to go give an inspiring speech to the adoring public!"Jim slapped his friend's back hard enough that McCoy staggered a little, the toes of his shoes digging into the ashy gravel and knocking the air out him. When he found his feet again he also found Jim frozen beside him. Following his line of sight, McCoy spotted a gold shirted kid with curly hair and slight figure ducking behind shuttle number six. McCoy tensed, ready to spring after Pavel. He wouldn't let that twenty year old kid carry around the number sixty-eight in the back of his head without doing something to help.

"No, hold on. You don't have to run. Look," Jim said, sticking a hand out in front of McCoy. _'Hell to that!_ ' the doctor thought and charged forward. Kirk dashed around in front of him and exclaimed, "Really! You don't need to run." It was then that the doctor spotted the Starfleet standard black shoes and uniform slacks peeking out beneath bottom of the shuttle. After a moment's hesitation, the doctor started forward again, this time at a sedate pace. The captain approached shuttle six next to him, with a look on his face that said he wanted to be anywhere else. When they reached the far edge, they found Pavel leaning with his back against the metal siding. He stood beneath the painted number '6' and peered at the two of them with wide eyes below a fringe of curls. He had a baby face and would probably always look young for his age. McCoy had always seemed to think of Pavel as younger than he really was because of it. Younger than McCoy's own daughter, in fact, even if Pavel was really a few months older. Of course, part of that might be because McCoy didn't want to acknowledge that Joanna was that old, too. Not seeing her face to face for four years made denial easier. Jim cleared his throat.

"Kid, did you-"

"I heard." Pavel stared hard at the ground in front their shoes.

Oh.

Well, then.

"Sixty-eight?" Pavel's eyes flickered between the two of them, the ground, and the shifting crowd in the distance. An admiral was giving a speech and the miasma of excitement from the massive audience reached them even as far away as they were. McCoy recognized the look in the kid's eyes; it was probably the same look that McCoy had gotten when he had stood on that platform and looked out at the families and crew. Pavel could feel the how superficial the happiness was. He could tell that this wasn't a celebration.

"Just because that's the number of so-called 'acceptable losses' doesn't mean that what we're shooting for-" Jim cut himself off. "Sorry. Poor choice of words. But the point is, our goal is to keep as many people alive for as long as possible. And that's the captain and CMO's goal, so that's what's going to happen." Pavel nodded mutely. But then his brow furrowed a bit and he looked up at McCoy with an accusing glare.

"Why weren't you going to tell me?" That floored McCoy. Pavel had been so jumpy and unpredictable lately, though…

"What?" the doctor asked.

"Why weren't you going to tell me? About the acceptable losses number? We've gotten them for every other mission and you told everyone in the command crew, including me. You said you'd tell everyone else _but_ me this time, though. Why?" Pavel demanded, stepping forward and standing straight. McCoy gapped for a few moments and then tried to find his words again. ' _Now, how did both of these kids manage to make me speechless in less than three minutes?'_ McCoy had to wonder.

"We were going to tell you. Uh, just not… not right away. To be perfectly honest, I was going to outsource it to Hikaru. I figured he would have a more tactful way of letting you know about such a… such a depressing subject," McCoy said. He was glad that even though his lying was a bit rusty he was still able to come up with that on such short notice. It was just a little fib. How much harm could it do? "I just didn't want to upset you unnecessarily. I don't know what Jim's story is." McCoy smirked at the captain, but all his friend did was glare at him. Pavel still seemed suspicious, but after a second his expression changed and McCoy hoped that he'd bought it.

"Speaking of Hikaru, where is he? I haven't seen him or Scotty," Jim asked. He glanced around, as if expecting them to just jump out from behind a shuttle at any moment.

"No idea. I haven't run into them," McCoy said, stepping backward to avoid Pavel's flailing arms. Jim had grabbed the poor kid when he let his guard down and had him in a headlock.

"Sorry, Doctor!" Pavel exclaimed, struggling to escape the captain's grip.

"No trouble," McCoy replied, sliding past a misplaced kick.

"Hikaru-" Pavel tried to jab his elbow into Jim's stomach and when he missed all the captain did was laugh over Pavel's gasping. "Hikaru said something about saying goodbye to his grandmother and cousin and then going to wait by the side of the stage."

"Stage? What stage?" McCoy asked, thinking about that tiny raised platform in the middle of the crowd. The captain replied since Pavel's face was busy turning a remarkable shade of red.

"It was on the left side of the yard walking in from the drop-off point. Starfleet set it up so a couple of the higher ups and I could give speeches. Sounds like that's happening right – Oof!" Jim grunted and stumbled back a couple of steps as Pavel finally managed to land a hit and escape.

"Ha! I got you!" he shouted. The exclamation was followed by a muttered a strand of curse words in Russian. "Come on, let's go and find the others!" he continued, in a much better mood than before. Jim walked forward with a perplexed grin half-formed on his face.

"That hurt, Pavel… you been working out, kid?" Jim asked, leading the way back to the makeshift barrier. McCoy could see Pavel's shoulders slump and for a moment it didn't seem he would reply.

"Please, stop calling me a kid. I've been twenty for a while now, a legal adult for longer than that, and I've been in Starfleet for even more time than either of those," Pavel kept his voice low as they approached the gates. "I know you treat me like an adult when I'm doing my job, but just once it would be nice if you gave me a bit of respect when we're not working. I've been fighting battles larger than myself for just as long as you have. I've seen the same things. I'm young, but I'm not a child. Not anymore." Pavel stopped speaking abruptly and almost appeared regretful. McCoy didn't know whether it was because of what Pavel said or what it meant or that he had said it out loud, but McCoy didn't like the look on his face. It was too troubled for someone so young, 'not a child' be damned. Jim stopped walking. McCoy halted, too, and it took a second before the young man in gold before them caught on and paused.

"What is it?" Pavel asked, turning towards them from a few feet away. McCoy glanced back at the captain and found him studying the navigator; his head was tilted and his forehead was wrinkled in confusion. It was like this was his first time seeing the young lieutenant. McCoy turned back to Pavel. Then he saw what had made Jim stop.

Pavel had grown up. Yes, he still had the baby face and probably always would, and that was what McCoy always saw when he looked at him. But Pavel was just a little bit taller; a final growth spurt a few months before had put the top of his head above Kirk's. His shoulders were a bit broader, wiry frame filled in with a bit of extra muscle. His face had filled out, too. His jaw was more defined than three years before and the baby fat had melted away. He still had wide eyes, but there was something more in them. More knowledge, more wisdom. And a shadow…

"Well, Jim," McCoy coughed and continued, "It seems you've lost your right to call Chekov a kid."

"Wait, hold up! What about you?" Kirk protested.

"The doctor can call me a kid if he wants." Pavel's eyes got the mischievous glint that came about with overexposure to James T. Kirk. "But you can't, captain." Jim gasped in mock shock.

"You wound me, Chekov! Right here!" The captain pointed to the left side of his chest. "My poor little baby navigator is all grown up! What will become of me?"

"Your heart is in the center of your chest, you twat. It's just tilted to the left," McCoy snapped, striding past the captain who seemed perfectly happy to just ham it up in plain view of all of the people he would need to command over the next five years. The doctor presented his ID to the guard and forced his way back through the turnstile. Jim, still complaining at the top of his lungs about the injustice of it all, followed Pavel whose face was getting to be the same shade it was when Jim had him in a headlock. McCoy, pretending he was in no way associated with the loud moron behind him, turned to the right and began the onerous task of edging toward the fence.

-0-

 **That's it for right now! To everyone who celebrated Christmas last week, merry Christmas!**

 **I love follows, favorites, and reviews and thanks again to everyone who has done one of those!**

 **Also, I know this is almost sacrilege to say in a Star Trek fanfiction, but I saw the latest Star Wars movie and it made me so happy!**


	8. Chapter 8: Diatribe

**Hello! I'm back and HAPPY NEW YEAR! Here is the third part of what was supposed to be a single chapter.**

-0-

Chapter 8: Diatribe

By the time he had slid all the way to the side of the yard with the stage, he was feeling claustrophobic again and was far too overwhelmed to do anything about it other than keep pushing forward. Behind him, Jim and Pavel were also looking a little green around the gills and had fallen behind a few feet. Desperate for an end or a goal to work towards, McCoy stared down the length of the fence and had to grin when he caught sight of a black-haired figure in a gold shirt loitering by the corner of the stage. As McCoy started to fight his way toward him, the doctor saw Nyota and Spock join Hikaru at the edge of the crowd. They were all shaking hands with men and women in grey uniforms, one of whom was just stepping down from the stand. McCoy had just started to wonder if it was Jim's turn to give a speech when a familiar voice to his left caught his ear.

"Doctor!" McCoy felt a punch to the gut at the sound; ' _Not him! Please, I just got Jim in a better mood, please not him_ ,' he prayed. But he didn't need to turn around to tell that the captain had frozen a few feet away, and that could mean only one thing. "Ah, Captain Kirk! I was just going to ask Doctor McCoy here if he knew where you were. Now I see there's no need." The Admiral whose name McCoy couldn't remember pushed through the crowd. McCoy knew that _technically_ it wasn't that Admiral's fault they had to get an acceptable losses number and that _technically_ it wasn't that Admiral's fault the number was so high this time around… but that didn't stop the doctor from disliking him anyway. The Admiral paused, gaze sliding over McCoy and Chekov and giving them an indulgent smile before turning back to the captain.

' _No… I_ don't _dislike you_ ,' McCoy thought, ' _I think I hate you. Smug little-_ '

"Could we have a word in private, please?" the Admiral asked Jim, employing the kind of simper one uses when talking to a toddler. Specifically, an unintelligent toddler who had just decided that the next big thing in food should _totally_ be edible appliances… like electrical outlets.

' _Yep. Definitely hate you._ '

"I really don't see that we have anything left to discuss, Admiral. But, if you must talk to me you can do it now. I'd appreciate it if you kept it brief; I have to give a speech soon." Kirk's tone was colder than ice and about as harsh as McCoy had ever heard from him. ' _There's something more than just resentment in that tone… Jim what's gotten into you?'_ McCoy wondered, gaze flickering between the two of them.

"Look, I know you're still angry about how I spoke to you the other day-"

Jim snorted. McCoy raised an eyebrow at his friend as the Admiral continued.

"-but I have some genuine concerns about two of your crew members. I feel I should bring your CMO on this as well, since the matter involves these Ensigns' health and the safety of the rest of your crew. Doctor McCoy, you may stay, but… ehm, lieutenant-" he fixed his gaze on Pavel. When McCoy saw the guarded look in Pavel's eyes, he realized that the animosity rolling off the captain must be obvious to everyone, not just him. And that was worrying, since that animosity was directed at one of Kirk's senior officers. A senior officer who could ground him and promote Spock to captain if the Admiral gave a good enough reason. McCoy was aware of several reasons the Admiralty could ground Jim; if the man in grey before him found out about even one, McCoy had a feeling he'd be calling the pointy-eared hobgoblin 'captain' for the next five years. Lord knows Spock wouldn't get himself killed doing something stupid like Jim would. Had. Of course, when the time came for Jim to die again, he would probably call it 'brave' or 'reckless' instead of something more accurate like 'brainless'.

"Both of them may stay," Kirk stated, matching the Admiral's hard tone. ' _Then again, stupid bravery has its uses_ ,' thought McCoy. "What do you want?" the captain asked. The Admiral pressed his lips together in a hard line and stared at Pavel for a few seconds. McCoy felt a surprising swell of pride when he realized Pavel wasn't going to rise to the bait. He just stood there with his hands behind his back, staring past the Admiral's ear. His neutral expression betrayed nothing and he seemed genuinely apathetic, but based on past experience McCoy was pretty sure he was seething inside. The doctor let himself smirk; he knew he liked that kid for a reason. The Admiral snapped his attention back to the captain.

"Two of your crew are not medically eligible for active duty. I don't even know how they were admitted to Starfleet in the first place, let alone get a commission of this magnitude!" the Admiral barked.

"Admiral Gallagher, all of my crews' files have been reviewed by me and my command crew. I have no concerns about any of them and they all are fully capable of completing their jobs. The finalized crew roster I sent three days ago is, in fact, _final_. Thank you for your concern."

"But Ensign Whitten-" McCoy felt his stomach drop as those words left the Admiral's mouth. _Whitten_?

"Has been personally approved for active duty by me-" Kirk snapped.

"You can't-"

"-and Admiral Pike, prior to his death! The same goes for Ensign Brooke. There is nothing about their jobs that they should not be able to complete!"

"That doesn't-" The Admiral tried to protest, but Kirk would have none of it.

"Ensigns Whitten and Brooke are fully competent Starfleet officers, perfectly healthy, and in no way a danger to the rest of the crew! Now, unless you feel like taking it up with Admiral Pike, I would suggest you not pursue this issue any further. Now back away, _sir_!" Kirk shouted.

McCoy had been so wrapped up in the argument that he had failed to notice that Kirk and the Admiral had gotten almost nose to nose. He had also failed to notice that the area around the four of them was now clear of _anyone_. The crowd had formed a semi-circle, a small pocket of air against the fence. About half of the spectators were trying to look anywhere but at the arguing officers and the other half seemed so fascinated they couldn't look anywhere else. The smooth half-circle rippled suddenly and a shuffling noise came from McCoy's right; Hikaru, Spock, and Nyota emerged from the wall of onlookers. All three of them were startled and glanced around, taking in the tense atmosphere and energy. McCoy felt Nyota's eyes settle on him, and he realized his right hand was a fist and the muscles of his arm were tied in knots. It took a conscious effort to relax; by the time he had done that, the Admiral-whose-last-name-is-apparently-Gallagher had stepped back and donned a thin veil of decorum.

"Uh, Captain, Admiral," Hikaru intoned. He cut off as everyone's gaze flashed over to him. "They, uh, they need your presence at the stage." The pilot tacked on a hasty salute at the end and waited for a reply. The silence – as silent as it could get on the edge of a crowd that size – persisted until the Admiral finally drew all the way back and nodded once in Hikaru's direction.

"Thank you, Lieutenant," the Admiral ground out. With an artificially stolid look in the captain's direction, he strode off, the wall of people parting before him. Jim tried to follow immediately. His expression was murderous and McCoy could tell the only thing his friend wanted out of life right then was a half-way decent excuse to give Admiral Gallagher a bloody nose. Before Jim could move more than a foot away, McCoy felt himself spring forward to stand in front of his friend, his hand shooting forward to grab Jim's shoulder.

"Don't," McCoy hissed. "I know you and I know what you're thinking, but do not ruin this at the last second. In a few hours we'll be out of here… hopefully. Just wait to blow up until then." The tumultuous look on the captain's face was all the response McCoy needed. He kept a hold of his friend's shoulder until his expression relaxed somewhat.

"Fine," the captain muttered. McCoy breathed a sigh of relief. Sure, Jim wasn't happy, but at least he would wait to rant about it until he wasn't around people who could relieve him of command. The surrounding crowd had resumed their conversations, but the tense feeling in their pocket of inactivity endured until Hikaru cleared his throat and broke the spell.

"You know, I wasn't kidding when I said they wanted both of you at the stage…" he said, taking a step backward after Spock and Nyota. They had already turned and were forcing their way through the crowd. Pavel dashed to catch up to his friend and left McCoy and the captain to trail after them all.

"You never sent me Ensign Whitten's file," McCoy whispered. "If something is medically wrong with her I need to sign off on it… or at the very least _know_ about whatever it is. Same with Ensign… Book? Brooke? That was the name, right?"

"You don't need to sign-off on it, trust me. It's all cleared with Starfleet. I don't know why that-" Jim stopped himself, probably from using an expletive, "I don't know why _the Admiral_ is trying to pick a fight over it." McCoy snagged the captain's arm when it looked like he was about to charge ahead through the crowd.

"Kirk." His friend snapped his gaze over to him. The last time either of them he used each other's last name outside of a professional setting was… McCoy couldn't even remember. "I need to know. What is wrong with her?" he insisted. Jim opened his mouth to reply, a confused look on his face.

"You guys coming?" Hikaru shouted back to them. Jim paused, mouth still gaping, before turning toward Hikaru.

"Yeah! Be right there!" Jim called. With one last look at McCoy, he turned and pushed his way through the crowd.

-0-

 **Yes, I know there's been a lot from McCoy recently, but it really was supposed to be one chapter and I didn't want to rewrite it from another POV. Guess I'm lazy. Still working on typing new chapters and editing, so we're still on a one chapter a week schedule.**

 **Oh yeah, and I gave Chekov a promotion, so he's a lieutenant now. Just saying that it wasn't a mistake.**


	9. Chapter 9: Jargon

**Another short one. And finally from Kirk's POV! It's really more of a plot chapter, very little angsty stuff.**

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Chapter 9: Jargon

Jim was a little perplexed at Bones' almost frantic need to know what was wrong with Whitten and complete disregard for Brooke. In fact, he was so perplexed that he pondered it the entire way to the stage. Was Bones really so stressed about the mission? Had the Admiral talked to him about more than the acceptable loss number? Obviously, Admiral Gallagher hadn't mentioned Whitten before now or Bones would already know what was wrong with her. That also ruled out Bones recognizing the name… if he knew the girl, he'd already know she was deaf. But how'd he know it was a girl? And why'd he just ignore Ensign Brooke? Did he know someone else with the same last-

The realization was so sudden Jim almost stopped walking. Rachel Leigh Whitten. McCoy's ex-wife. But Ensign Whitten was 20, so it couldn't be her! A relative maybe? He continued to ponder the issue even as Hikaru and Spock cleared a path through the crowd for the other four people of the command crew to walk through. And then suddenly Admirals in grey were ushering him toward the stage and up three steps and then he was standing there in front of the crowd, next to a microphone, with nothing to say. Lucky break; improvising was a strong suit of his. He quickly ran through his options as the applause petered away. He was the last to go and everyone else would have already given speeches about how exciting and austere and solemn an occasion this was… All heavy stuff. ' _Okay, time to lighten the mood a little bit_ ,' he thought. The silence was starting to become awkward.

"Oh? Am I supposed to talk now?" He smirked and there was a polite laugh from the crowd. Clearing his throat, he continued. "Will the owner of the blue Sol with license plate number," he paused and held up his hand, palm towards his face, and squinted. "Uh, 38G- no! 386CEK please move your vehicle? It's blocking a fire hydrant." There was some more light laughter and Kirk gave himself a mental pat on the back. In the back of his mind he just really hoped no one actually looked up that plate number. It was his. He saw out of the corner of his eye that the Admirals all wore mortified expressions, though a few hid smiles like the rest of his command crew who were milling about at the corner of the stage.

"In all seriousness, though, what can I say that my… _esteemed colleagues_ …" he paused and gave a light cough that might have had the word ' _not'_ somewhere in the modulations. The crowd openly laughed this time. Jim smiled and continued, "… haven't already said. Yes, this mission is exciting. It's amazing and a wonderful opportunity to learn more about this impossible universe we live in. But what I really want to say, what I really want to acknowledge, is the sacrifice that is being made for it and the bravery that takes. And the members of the Enterprise's crew are not the only brave ones. The friends and family who are staying have just as much courage as the crew that is leaving. It is bravery of a different kind, yes, but that does not mean it is not just as hard to come by. You, the people we will be leaving behind for the next five years…" Jim paused, seeing the faces swimming in front of him for the first time since mounting the stage. "You are making a sacrifice by going without your loved ones. And I just wanted to acknowledge that before the Enterprise leaves. Thank you, all of you. You have surpassed all measures of courage in the face of this mission and you will always have my thanks and admiration. I will strive to be as worthy of your respect as all of you are of mine."

As Jim turned and walked off the stage to the sound of thunderous applause, Nyota sauntered over to the steps. When he reached the bottom, the xenolinguist leaned over the handrail and whispered, "Good job. I could almost believe you prepared for that." Jim glanced behind her and saw Spock approach.

"Very well-handled, Captain. Now I believe it is time to board the shuttles," he intoned, nodding to the stage behind Jim. A woman in a grey uniform now stood before the microphone and was giving instructions to a tumultuous crowd that paid her no mind.

"Board? Now, but we're still missing…" and as Jim was just about to ask where Scotty could possibly be, a jumble of people near the edge of the stage were shoved out of the way. The man himself, hauling a giant black duffle that could have doubled as a body bag, stumbled up to them. ' _Speak of the devil_ ,' Jim thought.

"Nice speech," Scotty puffed, "good and short. Lot better than the endless wind coming out of our 'esteemed colleagues,' eh? Nice touch by the way, the 'not'! Made me laugh. Well, almost. I couldn't breathe at the time." He staggered a bit and nearly knocked over Pavel who dodged as best he could and helped Scotty lay the bag on the ground. Hikaru stood next to them with a bewildered expression on his face.

"What- how- why-" The pilot couldn't seem to decide what question he wanted to ask Scotty, so Jim decided to pick one for him.

"When'd you get here?" he asked the engineer, who had only just regained his balance. Jim looked over his friends' shoulders and noticed a few people giving them odd looks and hoped no one said anything about "Starfleet decorum" or "esteem" or "acting your age" before they were well away (and unable to hear any of them through the empty vacuum of space). When Scotty was about to answer the crowd around them surged backwards towards the shuttles beyond the fence. The red, gold, blue, and grey uniforms were all squirming through the mass in an attempt to reach the front. If Jim had to hazard a guess – and based on the frantic shouting of the lady on the stage, it wasn't that much of a leap – then all of the instructions she'd given had gone unheeded, and what he was observing in the crowd was anarchy at its finest. Soon enough the command crew was an island in the deserted half of ship yard; the other half held the condensed crowd, pressed farther together than Jim had thought physically possible.

"Well, this will go over well on the news," Hikaru stated.

"I must assume you are using sarcasm, since chaos can only be considered a negative quality in any event, and given the current relations between Starfleet and the media, it will shine an even poorer light on the leadership skills of the Admirals and captains," Spock informed. Not that all of them didn't already know that.

"Thanks, buddy," Jim deadpanned and then looked back over to Scotty who seemed to have regained at least a little of his breath back.

"I got here about fifteen minutes ago and it took me that long to get over here! How long do you think it'll take to get through that?" he asked peering towards the mob that had packed itself against the far fence.

"Guess we'd better find out," he sighed, and trudged toward the mass. It was then he remembered that the outside fence was lined with photographers and that he and the command crew were clearly visible in the wide open half of the shipyard. He drew himself up and put on his "Captain" face; he could feel the shift in energy behind him. No longer were they just Jim and Spock and Pavel. They were Chiefs, Lieutenants, Commanders. Captain. He felt his friends right behind him every step of the way toward the shuttles. He couldn't help the smile that came to his face when he realized how perfectly metaphorical that was.

About half way to the edge of the throng that covered the low barrier between the yard and the shuttles, Jim glanced back at his friends, just out of curiosity. Spock and Bones were just behind him, Hikaru and Pavel forming a row behind them, and Uhura and Scotty brought up the rear. He snorted at the fact that they had somehow managed to arrange themselves by uniform color. When his group reached the border of the chaos he slapped a hand onto the shoulder of the nearest Starfleet Ensign he could find: a terrified twenty-something in a red shirt.

"You might want to cover your ears," the captain told him. When the Ensign and several of the people around him had done so, Jim brought his fingers to his mouth and heard Bones behind him slap his hands to his ears. Yeah, he knew what was coming.

' _Thanks, Chris,'_ Jim thought, and then whistled as loud and as long as he could; he was forever grateful to Pike for teaching him that. The silence rippled outward and the people nearest him cringed away… except for Bones who stood there with a smirk on his face and his hands over his ears. When finally the entire crowd was silent and had turned to look for the source of the whistle, Jim stuck his hand up and gestured with two fingers for his command crew to follow him. Red Shirt latched onto rear of their motley crew, trailing after them like a baby duck. Before them, the crowd parted like butter. As they slipped through the mob, the crew stranded in the crowd made their way toward _them_ instead of the gates, joining the terrified twenty-something year old in the red shirt behind the command crew.

Jim exhaled and only just stopped the breath from coming out shaky. He couldn't believe this was actually happening. How many years? How much time and effort and struggle? He knew Spock would say the last two weren't even quantifiable and he'd be inclined to agree in this instance. He'd put in way too much work for those values to ever drop below infinity. And finally the crowd parted for the final time and the ten turnstiles and guards at the gates came into view. Even with the shuttles just behind the gates, it was a rather underwhelming sight to be leading him to one of the biggest undertakings of his entire life.

-0-

 **I just know there are typos in there I didn't catch. Oh well.**

 **But the next chapter is pretty good, in my humble opinion, so I hope you enjoyed this little bridge into the main action.**


	10. Chapter 10: Disquiet

**It's a longer chapter today. It's also a bit angsty; our poor little navigator has a few unresolved issues.**

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Chapter 10: Disquiet

Pavel felt himself start to shake as he and the command crew approached the divider between the majority of the shipyard and the shuttles. More and more crew began to file behind them, filtering through the ranks and rows of civilians lining the path to the gates. Pavel could do nothing as the captain, Doctor McCoy, Spock, and Hikaru all marched off to enter the gates to the left. He couldn't help it when he stepped forward, and just watched as his hand deposited his ID into the palm of the guard. Pavel screamed, hollering as loud as could, but he couldn't open his mouth and no sound escaped him. The only thing he found himself capable of doing was observing the world slide around him as shuttle one's shadow loomed over his own.

When he finally came back to himself, the shuttle had swallowed him whole and the muffled sound of the crowd came to him through the open door. Then he was sitting in his seat - the window seat on the far left in the second row - and the shuttle pilot was closing the door, sealing off the noise of the crowd. He looked out the window and could see the crowd pantomiming a roaring cheer, but the only thing he could focus on were the higher numbered shuttles – all loaded and sealed – peeling themselves off the ground and into the sky.

100… 99… 98…

"Hikaru," Pavel whispered.

93… 92… 91…

"Hikaru," he rasped, only slightly louder. He was still unable to take his eyes off the window, but saw the reflection of his friend glance at him quizzically.

"What's up? You're white as a sheet!" the pilot exclaimed and turned to face Pavel fully. Hikaru sounded alarmed and the young navigator felt his friend grab his shoulders, pulling and pushing; he was doing everything to get him to turn away from the window. But Pavel couldn't. He kept watching the shuttles shrinking into the blue.

76… 75… 74…

"Hey, kid," it was Doctor McCoy speaking now. Pavel didn't reply.

69… 68… 67…

In a slightly lower tone of voice, Pavel heard the doctor say, "Hikaru, go sit with Jim. I'll talk to Pavel." The seat next to the navigator squeaked and the sound of Doctor McCoy settling in filled his right ear. His left was filled with the sound of his own rushing pulse. A large, calloused hand wrapped around his wrist and a sharp intake of breath accompanied it only a moment later. "Kid… Pavel!" Doctor McCoy's tone was urgent now. And the shuttles were taking off faster, almost in time with the rushing blood Pavel heard.

51… 50… 49…

"Pavel!" They were halfway done. And he just didn't know. He didn't know if he could do it – all of it – all over again. He could feel his head shake slightly side to side, but he knew he hadn't meant to. He could hear his breath, his heartbeat, and the roar of the crowd in the distance even though he knew that was impossible.

43… 42… 41…

"PAVEL!" the doctor shouted and then the sounds were gone. He let himself be turned away from the soft glow of the window to the dim interior of the shuttle.

The captain stood in the middle of the aisle and Spock sat in the seat behind him, peering around Kirk to look in Pavel's direction. Scotty had turned around in his chair immediately in front of Pavel, and Nyota was half out of her seat in the back row, clutching the back of Spock's chair. Hikaru looked frightened, staring at Pavel around McCoy. And McCoy… the doctor wasn't sitting next to Pavel like the navigator had thought. He was kneeling in the chair, bent over the armrest and clutching Pavel's shoulders. His eyes were impossibly wide. In the back of his mind Pavel noted that the doctor's hands were shaking and that probably wasn't a good response to fear in a man of his profession. He was a well-qualified surgeon, after all.

"You okay, kid?" Doctor McCoy asked. Two tricorders lay discarded on the floor, one at the foot of the chair and the other underneath the front row. Pavel's eyes darted from them, around the shuttle again, and back to McCoy. The doctor still looked panicked. "Are you okay?" he asked again, this time giving Pavel's shoulders a small shake. Pavel nodded mutely and Doctor McCoy fell back to sit on his heels. "God, kid. I thought you promised not to scare me like that again!" he rasped. The shuttle's engine whirred and Pavel's stomach did an endless variety of twists. "You're back with us, right?" McCoy asked. He still clutched Pavel's shoulders.

"I'm fine, doctor. Really, I am," he stuttered. Out of the corner of his eye Pavel saw the final shuttles launch.

3… 2…

Their own shuttle lurched.

1.

The navigator turned to look back out the window, to watch the earth fall away, but McCoy wouldn't let him.

"None of that, now," the doctor said. He almost sounded out of breath, like he had been running. "What happened? You've been out of it all week and now this. What's been up with you?" Pavel shook his head again, this time intentionally.

"I don't know…" he whispered. That was a lie. "I don't know if…" Pavel saw Scotty shift and reach out to him on the edges of his vision, the red sleeve of his uniform coming in to view. A flash of _red and then there was blood everywhere and an edge of silver that dripped and was far too close for comfort and then there was even more red blood everywhere and red lights flashing and a man in a red shirt whose name he didn't know was sliding, sliding down a tilted floor and falling to his death and then blinking red alerts on a transporter when he just wasn't fast enough-_ Pavel flinched away from his friend's outstretched hand and he knew that everyone saw. Knew that everyone knew what was wrong. How could they not know how broken he was?

"Don't know if… what?" the captain prodded from over McCoy's shoulder. Nobody had moved, nobody had seen him flinch away from Scotty. They didn't see. Didn't know… didn't know he was shattered. And as long as he kept the pieces together on the surfaces, they never would. He felt an overwhelming combination of panic and relief at that.

"Nothing," Pavel let out a shaky laugh. "Just nerves got the better of me, I guess. I'll be fine, I just," he gave a not-entirely-faked grimace, "I just need a minute." He closed his eyes and leaned back in his seat. He took a few breaths and tried to pull the pieces of Lieutenant Chekov back together. If he could do that they would never know what was wrong with Pavel. There was an uncomfortable shifting and murmuring in the periphery of his hearing. He clearly heard Nyota collapse back into her seat. When Doctor McCoy finally moved – it took a minute and a quiet "Bones," from the captain – Pavel felt at ease enough to crack open his eyes and watch the horizon fall away through the window. He was not unhappy to see it go. When all he could see was black and blue out the window he closed his eyes again and wondered how long he could keep the mask on. How long would it take them to figure out that Chekov was just a façade covering up the remains of a boy name Pavel?

When he pictured those remains the pieces looked faded, but were brought into jagged relief by the gaping chasms between them.

' _How to fix it?_ ' he used to wonder. ' _How to put the pieces back together? How to care again_?' He gave up trying to answer those questions. They were not relevant anymore. All he could do was pretend to be Chekov and smother Pavel beneath the mask; no one would ever know just how far the Russian whiz kid had fallen into the cracks left between the pieces of the person he used to be. It was a question he never asked anymore: ' _How to fix it?_ ' Only ever: ' _How to hide it?_ '

Hiding it wouldn't work forever. The doctor had some idea of how bad off he was. And the rest knew that _something_ was wrong.

Hiding it wouldn't work forever, but Pavel was going to hide it for as long as possible. He had a responsibility to his friends to keep going and keep working. He'd create a problem just like he always had. Invent something to explain his behavior and then write it off when he managed to get a hold of himself again. Pretend the fake problem had been dealt with. Taking a final deep breath, Pavel braced himself and opened his eyes. He glanced over to the doctor who he knew was still watching him like a hawk.

"Really, Doctor McCoy. I'm fine. I just needed a minute." He put on smile; it was shaky, but smiles would be after a panic attack. "How about we talk? It might help both of us," Pavel inquired. The mood in the shuttle seemed to relax at that and conversations from minutes before were picked up. Everyone knew about Doctor McCoy's fear of space and flying. 'If Chekov offered to distract McCoy from the thought of flying in a shuttle, he must be feeling better!'

At least, that's what Pavel wanted everyone to think.

"Kid, I want to believe you. I do, but-" the doctor sighed. "You promised me this once. Now do it again. Promise me that we're not… we're not heading back to what happened with the," McCoy seemed to choke on the word he wanted to say. He made a vague gesture at the air to his side, opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water. "With the accident," he pleaded instead.

"Of course, Doctor McCoy. I promise," Pavel nodded solemnly. After a brief moment of hesitation, McCoy picked up talking about a scientific periodical they both read and Pavel congratulated himself for not lying.

How could you head back to some place you never left?

After a few minutes of discussion about a newly developed precision dermal regenerator, Pavel circled around to another subject. This one had been bothering him since his and the doctor's rushed discussion in the hallway two days before, and he felt in control of himself enough to try to go back to normal topics.

"Doctor McCoy, I meant to ask if your daughter came to-"

"No," the doctor growled, "No, she did not."

"Oh." Pavel blinked. "I'm sorry. If it makes you feel any better, my mother could not come either."

"As it happens, that does _not_ make me feel any better," McCoy grumbled. "What kind of mother lets her own son leave for five years and not come to say goodbye?" he exclaimed. Pavel bristled a little at that.

"The kind that's very busy taking care of children who need her more than one who left seven years ago," he retorted. "My mother has her own life and I can take care of myself. I do not blame her for not saying good bye in person." This time the doctor that blinked and gave a sad sort of half smile.

"Well then, I guess I'm more a kid than you, 'cause I'm still harboring a bit of resentment about Joey not showing up," he muttered. He fidgeted a bit and pulled on the hem of his shirt. Pavel had started to notice that was a nervous habit of the doctor's but only ever when he was talking about his daughter or the captain.

"You said she had final exams, right? Do you really want her to miss them and fail her classes?" Pavel asked, even though he already knew the answer. He could understand why the doctor was mad, but at the same time he didn't want him to stay angry with his daughter. Pavel knew how destructive it could be to keep resentment that close to your heart. "Speaking as someone who's had this discussion with a parent before, just remember the she has her own life, too. Her own goals. But that doesn't mean she doesn't love you. She just can't wait around to start her life when it's convenient for you." McCoy scoffed.

"Ain't that the truth. You know I haven't been in the same physical location as her for four years? And now I'm gonna go and make it nine! Yeah, we've had video calls and written letters and all of that, but it still gets discouraging," the doctor sighed. He pulled out his wallet and started flipping through it. Pavel saw the doctor's regular ID card, Starfleet ID, some insurance cards, a hospital ID, and a few credit cards before McCoy finally stopped. Then, out from behind a piece of paper with emergency phone numbers written on it, came a picture. "I don't normally show off her picture, but this is Joey about a year and a half ago. She works at a stable in upstate New York and this is her favorite horse, Muse."

The picture's edges were a bit faded from handling, but there wasn't a crease or wrinkle to be seen on the paper. The girl in the center of the frame was so obviously related to McCoy it was almost painful. They had the same jaw, same face shape, same hair color, and there was a resemblance around the nose; she was not, however, a mini-McCoy. "Sweet" was not an applicable adjective to the doctor's appearance; it was to the girl in the picture. The horse next to her was nothing special as far as Pavel could tell (not that he was an expert). It was big, brown, and seemed to be a bit haughty, if such a word could be used to describe a horse.

"She looks very nice," was what Pavel said. What he thought was, ' _And familiar… I've seen her before and not just because she looks like the doctor.'_

"Yeah, she is. She's a good kid," McCoy replied, sliding the picture back into place and stuffing his wallet in his pocket.

"Hey, would you look at that," Scotty said from the seat in front of Pavel. The command crew all turned to face him and the engineer pointed out the window. "We're almost there." People got up and made their way to the window. Soon enough there were six faces all trying to see out of four tiny windows. McCoy seemed perfectly happy just to sit back and watch the chaos, shifting uneasily at the sight of space beyond the window. Pavel, however, got up right to the glass and looked out. Against the velvet black was a small, irregular white shape. As it grew larger, circled by 100 approaching shuttles, Pavel could make out NCC-1701 written out on the hull. The rest of the Enterprise gleamed in the light of a million distant stars.

All of a sudden the captain let out a loud whoop and started laughing. It was infectious. Soon the entire shuttle was filled with the laughter of the command crew. Even Spock cracked a smile. As the Enterprise and docking station grew and grew, Pavel realized that it was the first time he had really laughed in weeks. Possibly months. ' _Maybe_ ,' Pavel thought, ' _it won't be so hard to keep it together now. Maybe I was just homesick._ ' The Enterprise was whisked out of view as shuttle one entered the docking station. ' _I hope._ '

-0-

 **Well, that's that. Hope you enjoyed it. I know the ending is a bit cliche, but... the beginning was somewhat intense to write, so I was trying to wind down. Next chapter we're back to McCoy, and it should be up in a week around the same time.**

 **Also, I was thinking about getting a beta reader to expedite the editing process and get some outside feedback. (Plus that would keep me on track with the typing, because the number of buffer chapters actually on my computer has gotten alarmingly low... also, none of them have been proofread, which is concerning) If anyone is interested please PM me!**

 **Final note: I know I said no OC romance, but this last chapter has gotten me itching for something fluffy. And quite frankly, I just can't figure out how to make Spock and Uhura romance 'fluffy'. I know there are some people who can do that, but I can not. At least not successfully. Anyone particularly opposed to Sulu getting a girlfriend? He needs some love anyway, so at some point you're getting fluffy friendship or fluffy romance.**

 **Wow this is a long author's note. If you're still reading, thanks so much! And thanks to everyone who has reviewed or followed or favorited or even just reads this story consistently. Whenever I need a pick-me-up I take a look at the response this story has gotten and it makes me smile.**

 **That's it for now. See you next Sunday!**


	11. Chapter 11: Trepidation

**Why the update on a Friday? I'm trying out different update days. Because of this, it might be more than a week before the next update. Sorry. Might be sticking with Friday, though. Maybe Tuesday. Who knows?**

 **Anyway, yay, early update! This is partially due to the finding-a-new-update-day-thing and also partially as a thank you for the lovely reviews and such I've gotten. If you like the way the story is going or have a note on something you want to happen, please leave a review. I already have the plot, but I'll try to weave in some requests.**

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Chapter 11: Trepidation

McCoy shifted from foot to foot, eyeing the rest of his friends clustered around the windows. Past their heads he could see bits of the window and what lay beyond… and what lay beyond was a great big expanse of nothing. Yeah, sure there were some stars, but they were _way_ far away. In between the outer wall of the shuttle and those distant points of light was _absolutely_ , _positively…_ NOTHING.

No air, no solid ground… and no people.

At that thought the doctor couldn't help but turn and stare pointedly at a blank piece of wall. He really wanted to get to Med Bay. He was glad his friends were happy, but he could wait to join in on the festivities until after there were a few more walls between him and the icy, endless vacuum of space. When the docking station finally closed in around shuttle one and light from the hanger flooded the shuttle's cabin, McCoy inhaled deeply through his nose. He could finally relax a little.

"Uh, Scotty," Jim's voice snapped McCoy out of his reverie. The captain was walking back into the shuttle cabin from the cockpit, a fidgety ensign in gold behind him. ' _That's who flew us here?'_ McCoy thought. ' _The man is shaking like a Chihuahua dropped in snow! Not exactly confidence inspiring.'_ Oblivious to the doctor's train of thought, Jim continued to Scotty, "I meant to ask earlier. What's in the bag?" McCoy glanced over to where his friend was looking and saw what had given him pause. Scotty stood there, face as red as his shirt, desperately trying to lift the giant duffle up and over his shoulder.

"Tools, Cap'n! Didnae- want- ta risk-" Scotty finally hauled the bag's straps over his shoulders like a back pack. A cruelly sharp metal instrument of unclear purpose stabbed through the black canvas to the immediate left of Scotty's ear. Oblivious, the engineer continued, "I didn't want to risk them breaking because some idiot decided to throw the bag about." He paused and everyone's eyes flickered from Scotty's face to the metal spike three inches to the right in rapid succession. "What?"

"Do not look to your left," McCoy replied on instinct, realizing as soon as the words left his mouth that it was the wrong thing to say.

It was like showing a child a wet paint sign and then expecting them not to touch whatever it was on. Next thing you know, you have a white washed wall with stucco-ed hand prints and a cheerful toddler running around leaving white streaks on absolutely _everything_. And _then_ you're breaking your back over a tub, trying to keep the milky white water actually _inside_ it but only managing to give the toddler – who was supposed to be getting clean – a nice water works show. Long story short, Scotty looked to his left.

His eyes widened comically and he stumbled to the right, as if that was going to help. Hikaru jumped forward and snagged the engineer's arm before he could ram himself into the wall, possibly impaling more strange instruments through the canvas and into himself. He didn't quite catch the engineer before he ran into the first row of seats, though. Scotty grinned sheepishly around the cabin, and swung the pack gently back off, resigning himself to just lug it to its final destination.

"Scotty, go drop that off wherever it's going and then report to Engineering. You have two hours to check over everything. Again," Jim said, putting an undue amount of stress on 'again.' "Don't try to deny it. I know you've come up here every day for the past week to check everything."

"Well, excuse me for being dedicated to my job and making sure we don't all end up vaporized!" Scotty protested, heaving the bag toward the shuttle's door.

"I thought you said there weren't any problems!" Jim exclaimed.

"Easy there, Captain. There's nothing wrong, everything in perfectly fine," Scotty assured him. Out of the corner of his eye McCoy saw Hikaru fidget. As the conversation between the engineer and captain continued in the background, McCoy turned his full attention to the pilot (who McCoy would have really preferred as the person who flew the shuttle up, but too late now). Out of all the command crew, he was the person McCoy had spent the least amount of time with. It wasn't that the doctor didn't like him or didn't want to spend time with him; it was just that they never really crossed paths beyond when everyone else was present or Hikaru got hurt. The pilot started clenching his fists and twiddling his thumbs, evidently unaware of what he was doing. He was on edge. ' _Well now, Hikaru. What do you know?_ ' McCoy wondered. For the first time since the doctor had started observing him, Hikaru's eyes shifted over to McCoy; the pilot had become aware that he was being watched. It was then it occurred to McCoy that Hikaru had been staring at Scotty the entire time.

"Just as long as you don't blow up my ship, I guess we're okay," Jim said, apparently continuing something McCoy hadn't been paying attention to. McCoy maintained eye contact with Hikaru and gave a subtle jerk of the head to the back of the shuttle's dim interior. "Come on, let's go," Jim finished and turned to exit the shuttle, sidling awkwardly past the shuttle pilot. The shuttle pilot himself seemed to hesitate, eyes flickering around the cabin; ultimately, he forced himself out of the door, but it seemed he was tearing himself away from something. ' _Understandable. This has got to be difficult on everyone,_ ' McCoy thought. Scotty staggered after him with the gigantic duffle in tow and Spock, Uhura, and Pavel followed. When he reached the door, Pavel turned back around and looked curiously at them both.

"Go ahead," Hikaru said, "I'll catch up." Pavel hesitated and his eyes flickered between the two of them. After a few seconds of silence a muscle in his jaw jumped like he wanted to say something, thought better of it, and swallowed his words. McCoy wondered if he should be worried about that. Before he could ask though, the young lieutenant turned and walked out. "So, uh…" Hikaru trailed off and glanced from the now empty doorway and the doctor.

If McCoy knew anything about bolters – and he did; there were many a Starfleet officer who managed to be afraid of doctors and nothing else – then the pilot was one of them. McCoy would never have connected this man with Acting Captain Hikaru Sulu of the USS Enterprise who threatened to send 72 missiles of unknown content hurtling toward the Klingon homeworld. That Sulu was brave, reckless, and dead serious. This one was like a shy debutante at cotillion, all blushes and glances and half-finished sentences.

It made McCoy sick.

"What did you want to talk to me about? I mean, I assume you wanted to talk to me about something… I thought you did, anyway, uh…" Hikaru again left his thought unfinished and resorted to glancing at the windows, though those offered no hope of escape whatsoever.

' _Good god man, I'm embarrassed_ for _you_!' McCoy thought. What he _said_ was:

"When Scotty was talking about vaporizing us you looked nervous." Then it occurred to McCoy that, ' _No he didn't.._.' "I take that back. You were perfectly fine when Scotty mentioned vaporizing us. It was only when he said everything was fine that you got twitchy. Which, by my reckoning, is not the point in the conversation to start getting nervous." Hikaru's head actually turned this time as he looked between McCoy and the door. The good doctor, now assured he had Hikaru on the ropes, put on his DOCTOR FACE (patent pending). In a tone that brooked no nonsense he asked, "So are you going to tell me what's wrong or?"

He left the question hanging since he couldn't actually threaten to inflict bodily harm. He could heavily imply it through tone and piercing gazes, but he could not outright state it. That whole oath-not-to-inflict-harm thing really got in the way sometimes.

"Nothing." McCoy barely had enough time to raise his eyebrows before Hikaru started talking again. "Before you start interrogating me, let me explain in the best way that I'm able. Scotty was a bit freaked the other day and when I asked him about it was he said was that there wasn't anything wrong with the ship and that it was ridiculous and unnatural for that to happen."

"That's a stupid thing to be worried about," McCoy deadpanned.

"I know, I thought about it that way too, but then I actually started _thinking_ about it. Computer generated specs can only do so much. Technically, automated navigation and piloting systems on a ship can do all the work. But if I had a nickel for every time the computer working on its own would have gotten us killed, I wouldn't need a job."

That statement got McCoy thinking. _Would he let a machine do his job?_ His immediate response to that question was the sort of nausea he associated with oceans, pleasant breezes, and jarring seasickness. The nausea was closely followed by a resounding ' _Hell no!_ ' Realistically, he could see where both Scotty and Hikaru were coming from on the whole freak out thing. But as a CMO at least partially responsible for these people's mental health, he wasn't about to say that.

"So, you're nervous because Scotty's nervous because that the ship is perfect and not about to kill us like the last time we were on it? I'm not trying to criticize you or anything." McCoy forced his expression into an 'I am totally judging you right now' look that contradicted his words. "I'm just checking that's right." After a few moments' consideration Hikaru nodded a few times.

"Yeah. That about covers it," he replied.

"Okay." McCoy stared at him. "Suck it up." When the pilot gave him a confused look and opened his mouth to protest, McCoy continued, "Being nervous about that isn't going to help you do your job. Some stress is fine – good stress helps you think on your feet and keeps you productive. But worrying about something you can't and don't have to control is just plain stupid. Let Scotty stress about it." Even as the words left McCoy's mouth he knew he would not be following his own advice. He felt like there was a rope comprised entirely of knots sitting in his stomach. He couldn't wait to get to Med Bay.

"Alright," Hikaru sighed. "Look, I've got to report to the bridge. See you at the launch." He then finally got to leave the shuttle just like he had been hoping for the entire conversation. As the gold of Hikaru's shirt whisked out of sight McCoy couldn't help the sigh that escaped him. He knew he hadn't seen the end of that problem. He made a mental note to call Scotty in for a 'chat' within the next few days, assuming McCoy wasn't too busy. He didn't care whether Scotty was busy or not; he'd drag him to Medical by his ear if he had to. ' _Then again,_ ' McCoy thought, ' _if he were busy that would solve the problem and I wouldn't need to talk to him._ ' With a final glance around the cabin of the shuttle, McCoy took half a step toward the exit before a blue glint caught the edges of his vision. He stooped next to it – it was under the first row of seats – and found it came from a medical tricorder.

' _Must've kicked it under the seat after that whole business with Pav_ -' McCoy's train of thought stopped abruptly. About a foot away from the tricorder was a small puddle, no more than a few drops, of red. It was just next to the window seat of the second row. Pavel's seat. McCoy fell back just a little bit, staring at those impossible drops. They didn't move or disappear. They weren't a figment of his imagination. ' _I should have been more worried._ '

The next thing he knew he was on a turbolift on the way up to the bridge of the Enterprise. There was sweat beading on his forehead and he felt like his lungs didn't have enough room for the air he needed to shove into them. He knew he must have ran to where he was now… ran all the way through a hangar, a space dock, and a starship to get to the lift, but try as he might he remembered nothing of the trip. Except for maybe grey and white blurs with some primary colors thrown in. He tried to calm down and regulate his breathing, but he was on auto-pilot and there was only so much he could right then. The doors slid open – far too slowly – and McCoy exploded onto the bridge. Dashing across the room, he went straight for the navigator's station where Pavel was laughing a something an ensign in a red shirt had said.

"Bones!" Jim shouted, jumping up from the captain's chair. "What are you doing?" The captain lunged forward as McCoy grabbed Pavel's upper arm and dragged him out of his chair and back towards the turbo lift. The kid's eyes were wide and frightened; he looked seventeen again. "Bones!" Jim called again through the closing doors to the lift. There was a ' _woosh'_ and then they were cut off from the bridge and heading down, though McCoy did not remember giving a destination. Maybe there was a new computer protocol: if the CMO is running around like a chicken with its head cut off the default destination is probably Med Bay. More likely, though, was the option that he'd said something when he didn't mean to. All these thoughts and more crossed his racing mind as he threw Pavel against the back wall of the turbolift and whirled to slam his hand down on the 'hold' button.

"Doctor, what are you doing?" Pavel yelled. McCoy gave no vocal response, opting instead to grab Pavel left arm and yank up his sleeve. And then he froze. Because there was nothing wrong.

McCoy had a sudden epiphany regarding Scotty's problem with the ship's theoretical _perfection_. When you expect a problem and then don't find one, it can be almost as unsettling as a real problem.

The only thing there was a thin white scar that faded into Pavel's natural skin tone. It was from the accident with the box of razors a few months before… McCoy knew it had _actually_ _been_ an accident, even if few others believed it. As McCoy continued to stare at his wrist, Pavel froze as well and gaped. McCoy almost did the same but grabbed the navigator's right wrist and inspected it, too. That one was completely clean.

"Doctor McCoy," Pavel began solemnly, "We already discussed this. That accident will never happen on purpose. Ever. Why are you checking now?" Pavel's voice had dropped to a whisper and his eyes were still unusually wide. "What changed?" Again, McCoy did not vocally reply. Instead he looked down to his belt to grab his tricorder – just to make sure everything was really as fine as it seemed – only to discover he already had one in his hand in addition to the one on his belt.

' _Did I grab one on the way here?_ ' McCoy wondered, struggling to remember any detail about his mad dash to the Enterprise's bridge. Nothing came to him, but he supposed that snatching a random one was the only option.

"Doctor…" the young navigator started to slide sideways around McCoy toward the control panel."Are you alright?"

"Yeah, kid… uh, just…. Just hold still for a second, please," McCoy responded, fiddling with the tricorder he already held in his hand. Pavel drew to a stop next to him and the doctor held up the newly reset tricorder. No response. There was no whirring to indicate a scan and the screen remained blank. The only thing that seemed to work was the blinking blue light on the side. McCoy growled at it and muttered as he switched it out for the one on his belt. "Damn thing… piece'a crap… need to get quality control person fired…" Nothing would come of his grumblings, of course, but they seemed to set Pavel at ease a little bit. The doctor scanned Pavel using the functioning tricorder from his belt. "Well, it's the same readings as on the shuttle. Higher blood pressure than normal, of course, but still. Not reading any wounds."

"Wounds!" Pavel exclaimed, jumping a little bit. He bumped into the wall of the trubolift and stumbled, only just catching himself in time. During all of that he never took his eyes off McCoy. "We're at a spacedock! A random hostile is not just going to jump out of a Jefferies tube and stab me! And you already know I'm not going to hurt myself on purpose. Why were you checking for _wounds_?"

"There was some blood in front of your seat, almost under the front row." Pavel's mouth formed a small "O" and his jaw quivered slightly. McCoy reached over to the control panel and restarted the lift. He could feel his face flushing and he scratched the back of his neck. He really hoped this mistake wouldn't come back to bite him. "I was worried it might be yours. Your panic attack earlier freaked me out a little bit." McCoy stared pointedly at the tricorder in his hands, resetting it a few times so it would look like he was doing something.

"I guess that explains the kidnapping," Pavel said through a shaky laugh. His smile faded and he said in all seriousness, "I swear I'm fine now. You don't need to worry about me anymore."

McCoy cleared his throat. This conversation was dangerously close to becoming sentimental and he was starting to feel fidgety. He needed answers.

"Yeah, sorry for dragging you off the bridge like that. Anyway," the doors swished open and McCoy flung himself out of them, nearly running over a frightened blonde Ensign clutching a Padd. "I have to get to Med Bay." And with that he took off down the hall, barely hearing the alarmed squawk Pavel gave when he saw the Ensign.

"Taylor!"

McCoy would have found Pavel's surprise amusing if he hadn't been so preoccupied. ' _The shuttles have to be on their way back to Earth by now! I really should have waited and scanned that blood when I had the chance. Although, given the context, it was a reasonable assumption to make… if a dangerous one. Only one other option.'_ McCoy flipped open his communicator.

"Mr. Scott, report to Med Bay immediately," the doctor commanded, striding down the hall. People in gold, blue, and red all leaped out of the way at his approach, dodging down side hallways or pressing themselves as close to the wall as they could get. He barely noticed, though. The communicator in McCoy's hand crackled to life as he approached the doors to his domain.

"But, Doctor, I-" Scotty protested.

"This is not optional. Report immediately." There was a burst of cursing on the other end of the line which McCoy cut off with a quick snap when he closed his communicator. And then finally, _finally,_ he stepped through the doors to Med Bay. The gleaming white surfaces and sterile smell relaxed him, even though he knew that both or either would set anyone else on edge. He hadn't realized how tense he was until he felt the muscles in his back and face uncoil and smooth out.

"Chapel." He forced himself to smile at his head nurse who was walking back out of his office at the back of the room. "Glad you're back. Wasn't the same without you. You wouldn't believe the day I've had…"

-0-

 **It might be hard to believe, but this is the second longest chapter in the whole story so far.**

 **And WOW was it dialogue-heavy. That was pretty hard to write. Good news, though, we get Uhura's POV in the next chapter, so there's that to look forward to.**

 **Still on the lookout for a beta-reader. PM me. Keep me on track.** ** _cough cough_** **ThisWasTheLastTypedBufferChapterPleaseSendHelp** ** _cough cough_** _(I have more hand written, though, don't worry about that.)_

 **As a continuation of the 'review with requests' topic up at the top, there's going to be a bit of a time jump in a few chapters and after this fic done I'm going to start a story that's just a series of one-shots that fill up the time in between. So if you have a request for that just drop me a line and I'll see what I can do.**


	12. Chapter 12: Nucleotide

**And with this we trip over the 30,000 word mark! Wow. Thanks again for the amazing response! Favorites and follows are amazing and reviews make my day!**

 **It's a Wednesday update this time and the last one this month. Time really does fly! If all goes according to plan the next update should be on the 6th. Which, remarkably, is exactly two months after I posted the first chapter.**

 **Additionally, I know it's a weird chapter title, but I couldn't think of a good one and the acronym (see below) without the "O" looks like a DNA sequence. So, "Nucleotide."**

 **Yeah, I might need to get out more.**

-0-

Chapter 12: Can't Think of a Good Chapter Title (CTOAGCT) (Nucleotide)

Nyota had barely been able to make it out of her chair by the time Leonard had dragged Pavel into the turbolift. Every person on the bridge was frozen, all turned toward the path he had taken from the lift to the navigation panel and back; most of them were also somewhere between sitting and standing. The only person still in motion was Kirk who dashed to the closed doors of the turbolift. It was only when he started repeatedly jamming his finger on the "recall" button that people finally came back to themselves, falling into their chairs or straightening up entirely. Nyota, clear headed as usual, remembered protocol and procedure much better than her captain (who usually knew it but just blocked it out).

"If transit is paused – manually or by emergency protocol – all signals from the decks are cut off. It's a safety mechanism to help with emergency quarantine and to seal off areas of the ship in case one is breached," she recited. "It's also to stop the doors from opening in the middle of an attack or emergency situation where the ship is tilted relative to the local gravity and any passengers would slide out." She had a sudden burst of memory from Khan's attack. The entire ship and everyone on it being flung around like ragdolls. Nyota shook her head just a bit, trying to dislodge the images.

Clear headed. That was her trademark. She was the calm one, the grounded one.

"Yes, thank you, Lieutenant Uhura. I _definitely_ didn't already know that," Kirk snarked over his shoulder. He had resorted to banging on the wall next to the control panel.

No one seemed to appreciate level-headedness anymore.

"Computer, override turbolift protocol one four A-" Kirk began.

"Captain," Nyota snapped. "I think you should just let Doctor McCoy deal with… whatever this is. He'd let us know if there was a serious problem. Besides, when was the last time he ever hurt anyone?"

"Uh, last month, at my physical! He jabbed me with at least three hypos and one was just to shut me up!"

"I ask again, when was the last time he hurt anyone?" Nyota inquired, smirking. Jim scoffed at the light chuckles that filled the room; stalking back to his chair, he picked up the PADD he'd dropped when Leonard burst in.

"Well, he better hurry up. I need my navigator back before we start," the captain grumbled to the screen in front of him. Nyota smiled to herself as she ambled to Pavel's empty station. ' _My navigator,'_ Jim had said. It was sweet, really. They'd always been pretty close, but after Khan, Kirk had gotten some sort of big brother instinct about ' _his navigator_.'

Nyota glanced over the panel Pavel had been working on. She studied the lines of equations and –making sure not to alter anything lest she make a change that spelled certain doom for everyone on board – scrolled through his work. She smiled at the endless strings of numbers, symbols, and variables, and the little notes scribbled in the margins in Russian. The Cyrillic alphabet stood out against the Standard and mathematics; the whole thing just seemed so… Pavel.

"Actually," she started. Jim glanced up from the PADD. "Barring emergencies, it looks like you don't need him for about three days."

"What? We've been on the bridge less than ten minutes! How could the ki-" Kirk cut himself off, "Even _he_ couldn't have calculated the navigational equations for three days _at_ _warp_ in less than ten minutes."

"We're still in well known, well traveled space. He probably has this stuff memorized and didn't need to actually calculate anything. And even if he did he would have done it weeks ago when he got bored." Still smiling, Nyota turned and slipped back into her own station. She sat and resumed running diagnostics on the communications array. Ever so slowly, peopled picked up what they were doing before they were so rudely interrupted by Leonard. The incident was almost forgotten among the flurry of final checks when the turbolift doors slid open to reveal a frazzled Pavel. He tried to walk back to his station in a professional manner, but the ruddy splotches that stained his cheeks ruined the effect. ' _Aw, he must be so embarrassed_ ,' Nyota thought, desperately forcing down the urge to ruffle his hair. She knew he was a grown up and a lot more mature than most of the testosterone driven idiots on the ship, but she still couldn't get past the baby face and big eyes. Just as he was about to sit down, Pavel paused and turned towards her.

"I'm sorry, Nyota. I almost forgot." Pavel stepped out from in front of his chair and hopped up the two steps to get to her station. When he reached her, he proffered a small brown box with a red bow crushed to the top. "Here. Happy birthday."

"I told you I didn't want anything, but you are so sweet! Thank you, Pavel," Nyota said, standing and hugging him around the waist with one arm.

"You are welcome," he replied, shying away. If she thought his face was red before it was nothing compared to how he looked when she sat back down; he was more than a little flustered and stumbled backward to his own station.

Yeah. She was never going to be able to make it past the baby face. Just then there was a squawk of protest from the back of the bridge.

"Hey, I listened to you! You said you didn't want anything, so I didn't get you a present! See, it's the thought that counts!" Kirk protested. The PADD sat abandoned on the arm of his chair, tilting dangerously when he moved.

"I believed it when Hikaru said it and then apologized. But I do not believe it coming from you," Nyota said, never taking her eyes off her screen. She didn't need to turn around right then to tell the look on Jim's face was indignant.

"Can you believe this?" his voice was angled toward the other side of the bridge, probably asking a random new officer. "I do exactly what she says and I still get flack!" About sixty percent of the people on the bridge snickered. The remaining forty percent were silently questioning Starfleet's decision to hand over a couple _billion_ dollar machine with formidable and advanced weaponry to an overgrown eight year old. Nyota, for her part, did both.

When the laughter died down she heard the turbolift returning. A few ensigns, a yeoman, and Hikaru stepped out of the lift and then dispersed, taking up seats at empty stations. Hikaru approached his seat and then hesitated, half turning to the captain's chair. He teetered for a moment on the edge of something; finally he turned all the way around to face Kirk.

"Did someone get hurt already?" he asked. Many of the other officers on the bridge stilled and waited for the answer.

"You asking about Bones?" Kirk asked.

"McCoy got hurt!" Hikaru exclaimed. Several eyebrows around the bridge shot up to meet hairlines. "But he's the CMO! And the mission hasn't even started!"

"No, no!" Kirk said hurriedly. "That's not what I meant. I meant, ' _Do you mean to ask about Bones' mad dash through the ship?_ ' I've already gotten a few concerned messages." He held up the PADD and shook it a bit. "Anyway, no. Everyone's fine, as far as I know. McCoy just ran in here for no apparent reason, kidnapped Pavel – er – kidnapped Lieutenant Chekov and then reported to Med Bay four minutes later. I think he made Scotty report to Medical for an exam, which should still be going on right now. No idea why, but I expect an update pretty soon," Kirk summed up.

Nyota spun away from her station to face her friends. About fifty percent of that information was new to her. Hikaru turned as well, but instead of looking to the captain again, he faced Pavel.

"What did McCoy want with you?" he inquired, slipping into the pilot's chair.

"What does he want with anyone? Stick a tricorder in their face and yell at them. The doctor is crazy," Pavel replied, shrugging. His face, which had only just returned to its normal shade, suddenly reverted to candy apple red at the attention. Meanwhile, the captain found his statement absolutely hilarious.

"Ha! That just about sums Bones up. Good job, kiddo- uh, Pavel. Lieutenant Chekov. Er…" Kirk floundered for a few seconds, "Lieutenant Uhura!" Kirk suddenly whirled to face her. "How's our communications array looking?" Nyota turned back to her station and responded:

"All systems normal, Captain."

"Great! Now…" and then he slowly worked his way around the bridge, asking after the systems, friends, and family. Behind her, Nyota heard Hikaru and Pavel snickering at something. After she couldn't find anything else to check at her station – there wasn't anything to fix or recalibrate, which was a bit bizarre – she got up and started checking her neighbors' stations and instruments. Everything seemed too quiet it was putting her on edge. When she got done with her neighbor's stations she sat back down in her own seat and picked up her PADD, intending to check out the new communications officers and xenolinguists she would need to work with.

Her first stop was the academic files; she flipped through them trying to find someone with any sort of potential. She knew in skill she was on the far upper side of the bell curve and was also aware that this resulted in a skewed view of the world and most of its inhabitants. Of course, Starfleet did not exactly scrape the bottom of the barrel of talent or skill in any field, but still. Being that far ahead sometimes made looking back a difficult mater.

Her xenolinguistics team would consist of Ensign Jacobs, Ensign Kamau, Ensign Xi, and Ensign Brooke… Xi seemed average for Starfleet. Kamau the same-ish, maybe a bit better. Jacobs – Nyota shuddered in horror when she saw his scores. ' _Who did he bribe and how much did it take?_ ' she had to wonder. It was a pretty motley crew for a mission of such magnitude… and on the flagship of the fleet! And then, suddenly, she saw Ensign Brooke's scores and the clouds cleared. For a moment she could have sworn she heard angels singing off in the distance. His scores were the definition of the word ' _stupendous'_ and every variation thereupon that she knew. And he was as aurally sensitive as she way, possibly ( _probably_ ) even more so. She'd heard something about Brooke when she was talking to an old professor at the Academy, but she'd just assumed the reports were exaggerated. They weren't though. It was amazing.

But as far as the languages he knew… the variety could use some work. There were some Earth languages – English, German, Russian, Mandarin. There were two dialects of Romulan; he was working on the third. And there was Vulcan. It was a bare minimum. Nyota continued to flick through his file. Apparently he was a quick study and had only spent three years in the Academy. He'd been fast-tracked so he'd be out by the Enterprise's departure date and hadn't had time for as many language courses. There was a little asterisk on his mission file, though.

"Lieutenant. Lieutenant Uhura."

Curious about her new colleague, she tapped it and found it took her to Brooke's public medical file. There wasn't much; in the public files there was usually just stuff like height, species, gender, major allergies, and special notes like 'prone to migraines'.

"Lieutenant Uhur _aaaaa_ …"

In Brooke's case though, there was a single, very distinct note at the top. ' _Blind. Uses guide dog_.' It was followed by another asterisk. She glanced down at the bottom of the medical file and found in tiny black print: ' _Friendly. Do not pet_.'

She had to suppress some giggles. She knew the note was talking about the dog, but if you read it without really thinking, it almost sounded like it was talking about Ensign Brooke. ' _Friendly. Do not pet_.'

" _Uhura_!"

She snapped her head up. Kirk was standing next to her, a bemused smirk plastered on his face.

"Whatch'a doin'?" he asked, peering at the PADD in her hands.

"I was looking at the xenolinguistics specialists I'll be working with," she responded, turning off the PADD's screen.

"Oh yeah. I still don't know why they waited so long to get us the roster to review. It was a bit annoying. Really annoying, actually. Anyway, how's communications looking?"

"You already asked me that," Nyota replied smoothly. She then caught sight of the doors to the turbolift opening once again. Kirk followed her gaze and smiled at the latest person to make it to the bridge.

"Spock!" he exclaimed. Nyota had to stifle a giggle at the raised eyebrow her boyfriend gave the captain. "Give me some good news!" Kirk continued, ignoring Spock's expression.

"Are you asking for good news because there was some bad news, Captain?" the first officer inquired. "I was under the impression final preparations were going well."

"No bad news, Spock, no worries," Kirk chuckled. "But that doesn't mean I don't want more good news. So. How's everything?" The captain fell back into his chair and then sat forward, hands on his knees and grinning like a manic preschooler. Spock somehow managed to appear perplexed by only altering the position of his left eyebrow. It was to his credit that he appeared at least more used to the captain's antics, even if he wasn't totally acclimated yet.

"The planned departure time is in twenty minutes and it appears we can adhere to schedule. However, we've had an interdepartmental dispute. When I checked with Mister Scott he was cursing Doctor McCoy and when I checked on Doctor McCoy he was cursing Mister Scott… But both Engineering and Medical have completed final preparations. They are awaiting your orders. I-"

"Great!" Kirk flipped open his comm. "No rush, Bones, but get up here. We're leaving soon." The captain turned back to his first officer. "Sorry, Commander. Continue."

"I've already spoken to a few of the officers in charge of stellar cartography, geology, botany, and weapons, and they all appear satisfied with Ensigns assigned to them. Additionally, Doctor Marcus sends her regards from the weapons bay. She requested to be present on the bridge for the launch and I gave her my approval. I hope this was not out of line." He paused, waiting for a reprimand in case Kirk was feeling confrontational, but none came. He continued, "While in the stellar cartography department I heard some apprehensions regarding a deaf crew member, but Ensign Whitten appears fit for duty. When I met with her I also met an Ensign Brooke from xenolinguistics, who is blind. Despite any difficulties they may have had reaching this point, both appear to have sufficient means to function aboard this vessel in their assigned roles. If there are any problems, as Chief Science Officer I can make the final decision for Whitten's continued posting aboard the Enterprise… as long as you agree with my decision, Captain. As of now I have no qualms with her; her _academic_ record is exemplary." Here Spock nodded at Kirk and paused expectantly.

"She's fine. Had some disciplinary stuff, but nothing too bad. Nothing worse than me, anyway. Keep going." Kirk nodded at his CSO and Spock nodded in return.

"Very well. I indeed had some concerns regarding her discipline record, but if you take no issue with it I will simply ignore it. As Brooke is in xenolinguistics I thought it wise to consult Lieutenant Uhura about what his work here will be." As Spock continued to speak Kirk appeared to get more and more restless. He shifted in his seat and started playing with the buttons on the arm of the chair. "I also thought that perhaps Doctor McCoy should be brought in to monitor how they adjust, as this is the first commission for both of them. If Doctor McCoy is included in this process it would also allow us to monitor and change specific assignments should they have difficulty." Kirk inhaled deeply through his nose and clenched his fist. Nyota wondered if she should let Spock know he was starting to approach what appeared to be dangerous territory. "It would be unwise to give them an extra task they are unprepared for or unable to complete due to special circumstan-"

"I don't get why everyone is so hung up on these two! They made into and through the Academy under their own power, why is it so difficult for people to accept they can handle this?" Kirk exclaimed, jumping out of his seat. Nyota had to admit she was a bit surprised. The captain was wired a little bit weird, sure, but sudden out bursts were out of character even for him. He'd been weird all week, though, so this might actually be the new normal. Or it could be a touchy subject for some reason. The more Nyota thought about the more likely it seemed to her that it was just a sensitive subject. After all, since that argument with the Admiral, Kirk had seemed just fine.

He started trudging backwards and forwards behind the captain's chair with his face screwed up in a grimace; on his second trip toward Spock he apologized. "Sorry for cutting you off again. And sorry for the shouting… I know it's not what you meant. You already said they're fine."

Instead of replying, Spock just walked over to Nyota, giving her a glance that she translated as ' _You handle this_.' She couldn't help sighing; if there was one thing she hated, it was refereeing those two when they had a problem communicating. She didn't care if communication was "technically" her department. She was a xenolinguistics specialist, not a therapist! (And starting to sound like McCoy, which was worrying.)

"I have no concerns about Ensign Brooke. He has great potential in all areas of communications, but is especially aurally senstitive. In that area he appears to have tested higher than anyone else on board," Nyota stated. It took some restraint to not add ' _Even me_ ,' to the end of that sentence. She had a feeling that would come off as conceited and resentful.

"He tested higher than _every_ xenolinguist on board?" Spock asked. It wasn't as subtle as Nyota would have gotten from, say, Sulu, but it was more than she normally would have hoped for from Spock. But as if the statement wasn't enough, it appeared Spock was trying to convey the significance of his words by staring straight through her. Trying to keep the exasperation out of her voice, she replied,

"Yes. Every. I think it might be partially attributed to his being blind. Many times when humans lack one sense, they become more sensitive in others to compensate."

' _I know you're not trying to, but please stop embarrassing me. It's hard enough dealing with being knocked off my pedestal without all of the extra emphasis,_ ' Nyota thought. Spock's gaze snapped back to the captain. Nyota blinked at the abruptness and glanced down to see if their hands had brushed. Vulcans were touch telepaths, after all. But they were standing a good foot apart, just like she had thought. ' _I guess he must be getting better at reading me.'_ For some reason that gave her a warmer feeling than earlier that morning when he had kissed her and wished her a happy birthday. It was then that the turbolift doors opened again to let Leonard and Carol Marcus onto the bridge. Spock ignored them and just resumed his report to a still-pacing Kirk.

"It seems that Ensign Brooke is well prepared and has Lieutenant Uhura's approval. As you have already disregarded Ensign Whitten's past discipline issues, then I suppose there is no reason to be concerned about either of them," Spock stated. He then nodded to the two newcomers. "Doctor McCoy. Doctor Marcus." Carol smiled and said hello but then drifted over to a friend who was near the back of the bridge. Leonard, meanwhile, headed straight for Kirk.

"Everything ready in Med Bay Bones?" the captain asked. He paused his pacing behind the captain's chair and leaned against the back, smirking. "I heard you and Scotty had a bit of a fight after you kidnapped my navigator. There a problem I need to know about?" Leonard froze.

"That depends. How much time you got?" He seemed to avoid looking at the viewscreen at all costs, keeping his eyes fixed on Kirk. Not for the first time Nyota wondered about how he'd do in space for five long years… and whether they would need a doctor for him before it was all over.

"Seventeen minutes until departure," Sulu announced from the pilot's seat, and then resumed pretending to not listen to the conversation behind him.

"Seventeen minutes, huh?" Kirk glanced from Leonard to the pilot and back. After a few more moments' hesitation he said, "Alright then, Bones. Come on." He dragged himself up from leaning against the chair and then trudged to the door that led to the hall. Leonard followed, silent.

Nyota turned back to her station to check on everything one last time. Just in case. As she began to tap out a few commands to run diagnostics Spock came up next to her and studied the screen. He leaned in just close enough that they were only a few inches apart. Nyota's fingers stilled over the screen and then reached out and took Spock's hand. It occurred her she should take her last few minutes near Earth to appreciate it and everything she had gotten from it.

Fifty percent of Spock was from Earth, after all.

He raised an eyebrow at her and their entwined hands; then maybe, just maybe, she saw a ghost of a smile flit across his face.

-0-

 **I tried some fluffy? At the end? Is it fluffy? I can't quite tell. I made the attempt anyway.**

 **I hope this was a nice reprieve from Bones' and Chekov's endless angst. They're adorable, but they are** ** _so_** **high maintenance. Trip over a rock? Concussion. Get the sniffles? Deadly disease.**


	13. Chapter 13: Admission

**Hello! I'm back with chapter 13! Big thanks to justok who beta-ed for me!**

-0-

Chapter 13: Admission

McCoy trailed after Jim when they left the bridge. He hesitated for a moment in front of the door before stepping through. On his back he felt pointed stares from most of the bridge crew and was both relieved and anxious when the door flew shut behind him. Standing in the over lit hallway, out from under prying eyes, was a blessing. Walking down the same hallway toward a discussion where he'd have to relay a few unwanted messages… not so much. But he still trudged the few meters necessary down the hall after Jim, approaching the first command meeting room.

"Computer, black out windows," was the first thing the captain said when they reached the wide room. The floor to ceiling windows on the opposite side faded to black, blocking the view of Earth's horizon and the vast expanse of nothing that lay beyond it. McCoy was almost touched by Jim's consideration.

"Thanks," he coughed, and nodded towards the windows when Jim gave him a confused look.

"Oh, don't mention it," Jim shrugged, and plopped in a random chair on the side of the table next to the wall. That put McCoy's back to the blacked out windows, but he didn't mind that much. Even if they were opaque he'd rather not look at them.

Pleased as he was about the seating arrangements, McCoy could still feel his stomach twist itself into a knot when he thought about how this conversation was going to go. The doctor slid into a chair diagonal from Jim and sat his hands on the table, folded neatly in front of him. There was silence for a few seconds as he worked out how to put what he wanted to say. But then Jim ended it with a dramatic groan.

"Noooo! No, no, no." McCoy just stared at his friend, waiting for the punch line. Less fiercly, Jim continued, "I know that look. That's your bad news look." He looked up at the ceiling and whispered, "And it was going so _well_!" Settling in, he asked, "Okay, what have you got for me?"

McCoy still didn't know where to start, so he just jumped in.

"I have a couple of things I want to talk about so I'm going to put them all on the table before we discuss any of them. You can pick which to deal with now and which later." McCoy glanced up at the clock above the door. He had better talk fast. "And no talking before I'm done," he commanded, staring at the captain until Jim nodded mutely. Satisifed, McCoy launched into his report. "Okay, first, the reason I 'kidnapped' Pavel. It's the same reason Scotty and I cussed each other out, which I'm sure you've heard about by now. There were a few drops of blood on the floor of shuttle one by the window seat of the second row." Jim's eyes widened.

"Wasn't that Pav-"

"Stop talking," McCoy commanded, and Jim gaped for a moment and then clammed up. "Yes, it was Pavel's seat. That's why I ran and grabbed him without scanning the blood. That was… that was a mistake on my part. Pavel didn't have anything to do with it, and I should have realized that beforehand. There weren't any lacerations earlier when I scanned him during his panic attack and I was watching him the entire time we were on the shuttle, so it didn't happen after I scanned him. But I panicked. I put two and two together, got four, but completely forgot that there was a three in there, too. Anyway, when I realized it wasn't Pavel's blood, I called Scotty into Med Bay. It was the only other option I could think of, that one of his little doo-dads must cut him when he put that pack on… though search me how the blood _would_ have made it over a row of seats. I say ' _would have'_ because he's fine, too. Not a nick on him. That leaves us with someone's unidentified blood on the floor of a shuttle that carried the senior officers of the Starfleet flagship. And this is a shuttle we no longer have access to. I got a message to Commander Schaeffer who organized shuttle transport up to the docking station. She and the pilot checked the floor and the blood was gone. I swear it was there, Jim. I'm not crazy and I'm not a liar." McCoy paused.

Jim, remarkably, adhered to the "no talking rule." It was shocking, really; normally when Jim had that look on his face he would out live the universe trying to get in the last word. The fact that the captain was actually keeping the explosion inside did not do much to settle McCoy's nerves.

"Next is the Ensign Whitten and Brooke… thing. I need full access to their files which, for some reason, are restricted."

To be honest, he'd only tried to look at Brooke's files, but he couldn't even get into the public records for that. Someone, and it could have only been the captain _,_ had completely sealed him out. He ground his teeth together and forced the rest of his report out of his mouth.

"They are r _estricted_ , even though I'm the CMO, damn it! And if what Admiral Gallagher said can be even partially believed-" Jim seemed very near spontaneous combustion when that comment left McCoy's mouth, "-even if there is a tiny grain of truth to it, I need to know. And I need to have a discussion with you about why you seem so determined to keep these two, in particular, on board. _Even_ to the point of lying and avoiding your friend. AKA: _me_." Once Jim deflated and did not look like he was about to burst at the seams, McCoy completed his rant. "And finally, you go near Christine again and I hypo your worthless existence clean into next year."

Jim blinked, clearly thrown for a loop.

"Wait, what? Christine? Who's Christine?" he exclaimed.

"Christine Chapel. She served on the Enterprise a few years back as a nurse, and then you and her were 'you and her' _very_ temporarily, and then she left to be a nurse on a colony world where she decided to pursue a doctorate. Which she now has. She was invaluable before, but now she's indispensable, so if you go near her again in anything other than a professional manner, I _will_ kick your ass. Got it?" McCoy asked. He glanced at the clock; thirteen minutes until the launch. Now it was down to Jim how long this would take.

"Yeah, yeah I get it. I go within five feet of her and dishonor, death, and destruction will rain down on me, you've made yourself perfectly clear. Dishonor on me, dishonor on my ship, dishonor on my _cow_ \- But, hey! Aren't you not allowed to threaten people?" And then Jim managed to look like he'd been hit by a truck and been bestowed with the Holy Grail at the exact same instant. "Hold up, wait, wait, wait! _Are you and Christine a thing?"_ he whispered. He leaned over the table and scooted to the edge of his seat, waiting with a Cheshire Cat smile.

McCoy mimicked his body language, putting his arms onto the table and leaning in close. He took a deep breath.

"No," he deadpanned. "Now that we've gotten that over with!" The doctor flung himself backward in his seat and relaxed, throwing his feet up and onto the edge of the table. "Which are we talking about next, the blood or the ensigns?

"We'll talk about the ensigns and I'll deal with the blood later. I'm not saying I won't need your help, but I'll see if I can't get someone who is actually within 50,000 feet of that shuttle to look into it some more. Plus, there's not much we can actually do about it until we get more information. And it'll have to wait until after the launch. Sorry," Jim apologized. He sighed. "Now, as for the ensigns, I really didn't expect you to be this concerned. Normally you're pretty crazy about your job, but I'm gonna be honest, this borders on the fanatical."

"Jim, just get on with it. They're already here and apparently Spock is A-Okay with them, so unless something is really wrong, there's not much I'm going to do at the eleventh hour."

Internally he pleaded, ' _Please let Ensign Whitten be someone else, please let Ensign Whitten be someone else…_ ' but he had a sinking feeling that Whitten's first name was Joanna. Which would be bad. Because not only would that mean that Joey had been lying to him for the past four years, it would also mean she was on the Enterprise, hurtling through space at warp speed, and James Tiberius Kirk was at least partially responsible for her continued corporeal existence.

That was not a comforting thought. Would the doctor trust his own life to Jim? In a heartbeat. His daughter's? Snowball's chance in Atlanta.

Plus, Spock had something about Whitten and discipline issues. And that was not something he thought he could deal with without giving himself an ulcer.

"Fine," Jim exhaled. "Ensign Brooke is blind. Whitten is deaf."

Silence.

And then after a few moments McCoy parroted, "Ensign Whitten is deaf." He was numb and unsure whether he was actually surprised or not. Probably not. He felt more resigned than anything else. But then again, he also felt like he wanted to punch something… like Jim. "What is her job? Their jobs, I mean," McCoy asked.

"Uh, Whitten is a stellar cartographer, specializing in gravitational anomalies. Brooke is in communications, specializing in xenolinguistics. He'll be working with Uhura," Jim replied. The response was automatic, clearly rehearsed.

And suddenly McCoy felt an irrational swell of anger.

"Blind and deaf! _That_ is what you were so worried about telling me?" he shouted. He didn't know whether this was a residual knee-jerk from when Joey was little and people would treat her like a pariah, or if he was angry because Jim didn't know him well enough to realize that this was not in _any_ _way_ a problem, or if he was angry with Joey for lying to him for so long about something that important. But that swell of anger had raised its ugly head and was now complete rage.

"Uh, yeah?" Jim squeaked. He'd seen that murderous look in McCoy's eyes before, usually right after Jim did something stupid and got himself hurt.

"Why'd you make such a big deal out of it?" McCoy exclaimed. "It might make life a bit difficult for 'em but I doubt that's anything they're not used to, poor kids! Why? Did you think I'd expel them from the mission? I'm not heartless! If they can make it through the academy there's no reason they can't make it out here!" Jim held up his hands, surrendering.

"Hey, we're on the same side! I just said the same thing not ten minutes ago!" he protested. "I didn't let you know not so you wouldn't find out, but so other people like Admiral Gallagher wouldn't find out and try to hold them back, I swear!"

"Then why am I, specifically, locked out of their files?" McCoy ground out. That one seemed to stump Jim. He sat silent for a few moments before tossing up his hands in exasperation.

"Alright," the captain said, "I _was_ worried you'd ground them. I just really wanted them on this mission. Both of them are amazing in their fields and I just… thought I'd give them a chance. Even if they graduated at the top of their class, I was worried no captain would take them unless ordered. I didn't want them to get stuck on some small, unimportant ship in a random corner of space; and that's assuming they made it off Earth at all. They applied for the Enterprise, they qualified, and I didn't want them stuck somewhere they didn't want to be. So I did everything I could to make sure they got here and could stay. Maybe I took it a bit far, not telling you, and I'm sorry for that. But I was just trying to do for them what Pike did for me." Jim paused and gave McCoy a sheepish grin. "I met Brooke. He's a bit quirky; I think he and Scotty will get along. He even let me pet Baxter, his guide dog. Nice guy in general, I'd say. And Uhura seemed both impressed and put out by his scores. So, yeah. I think I made the right call there." His statement was followed by an awkward silence which McCoy couldn't find a question to fill.

And then he suddenly remembered that Joey got a lot of her looks from him.

"So, uh, you haven't met Jo- uh, Whitten, yet, right?" the doctor asked. Jim's answer would determine whether McCoy was about to start panicking. Considering he just tore the captain a new one for keeping two ensigns secret, he wondered how hypocritical he would seem after Jim found out about Joanna… especially if he found out by just noticing a resemblance between her and the doctor.

"No, I haven't met her," Jim replied.

"Okay, good," is what McCoy said, but his thoughts were more along the lines of, ' _Thank God!'_ He decided to cover his tracks before Jim caught on by himself. "I need to talk to you before then," the doctor said. When Jim opened his mouth to ask why, McCoy cut him off. "Does Ensign Whitten have an interpreter on board? I know PADDs can help with communication by recording people and transcribing what they say and letting her type things for it to say, but interpreters really speed things up."

"Yeah, Ensign Nguyen is another stellar cartographer and signs for her," Jim replied shifting in his seat. "I'll unlock their full files for you after A shift." At McCoy's mutinous look he amended, "Or during. During is an option, too. And then I can send you a direct link, so you don't have any authorization problems."

"Good. But I'll have questions for them. Particularly Joanna. Most actions on the ship are voice prompted, and it's not like Ensign Nguyen doesn't have a life of her own," McCoy said, picking his feet off the table and then rising from his seat.

"His own," Jim corrected. McCoy froze, half out of his chair.

"His? Well, damn." Under his breath McCoy muttered, "Guess I'll be talking to her about that, too." The doctor headed towards the door. "Don't think this conversation is over. I still have some things I need to discuss with you. But it's five minutes 'til the launch and you need to be on the Bridge." He strode out of the room, not looking behind him to see if the captain was following.

-0-

 **It's a shorter chapter today, but I have a good reason for it! This is another one of those "was-supposed-to-be-one-chapter-but-is-now-two" things. I had to cut it off somewhere, and this was the one place it made sense.**

 **Also, I just finished mapping the rest of the story I haven't hand written yet, and thought I'd just give you all a heads up. There should be about 27-30 chapters total. (You know, barring any more of that chapter 5-8 mess where it was supposed to just be one big chapter and then took up four. This time I think I can keep it to two and that's it :D)**

 **So, yay! 14 to 17 more chapters before the end; we're almost halfway there! Things start to pick up around 19-20 and chapter 22 makes me evil giggle... heeheheehehee.**

 **I just looked at the number of people following this story... and there are 41 of you! WHOA! I'm in awe. And really, really happy! Virtual hugs to everyone! I'd also like to take this time to thank all of the reviewers out there, especially consistent ones like klycmep, Afroz, Anonymous Mom, and WildChild13. But, THANKS TO EVERYONE WHO HAS TAKEN THE TIME TO REVIEW! You guys are totally and completely awesome.**

 **Next chapter should be up on the 15th. Sorry for the slower updates, but I have completely run out of typed chapters. Literally. I have one sentence of chapter 14 typed and that's it. Wish me luck!**


	14. Chapter 14: Commencement

**Surprise! Hi, everybody! Funny story...**

 ***Oops, I Did It Again starts playing***

 **This is - yet again - part two of three. I tried to pack way too much into one chapter, and the result is now three somewhat smaller chapters. Technically, I think I could have gotten away with what-are-now-chapters-14-and-15 being together, but... it would have been a really long read. So, hopefully you enjoy the early update.**

 **And also, yay! I finally have a new day that I will update consistently on! From chapter 15 onward (or until I feel like switching it up again) the new update day is Saturday. Next update is the 20th and then we should be back on a weekly schedule.**

-0-

Chapter 14: Commencement

McCoy swept down the hall, and after a few seconds he heard Jim scramble to catch up. The footsteps grew louder and then the captain popped into view on McCoy's right.

"Hey, you just said 'Joanna' instead of 'Ensign Whitten'! How'd you know her first name? And why'd you use it?" Jim asked, brow furrowing. He began to walk backwards in front of McCoy, peering at him with a perplexed expression. At the first hallway juncture a lieutenant in red and an ensign in gold stood with similar confusion etched on their faces. McCoy noted in passing that the ensign was the pilot that flew shuttle one. Jim gave them a winning smile as he passed them, still walking backwards. "At ease, gentlemen!"

As McCoy passed them he heard the pilot mutter to the man next to him, "Okay, I get it now…" Obviously there were some unkind rumors circulating about the captain. The doors to the bridge flew open at the Jim's approach.

"I told you, I still need to tell you some things. They're kind of important, so try and make it a priority," McCoy grumbled as Jim entered the bridge… still walking backwards.

"Keptin on the bridge!" piped Chekov from the front, never taking his eyes off the screen in front of him. Several people turned around and McCoy saw shaky smiles and wide eyes from every corner. Jim turned, now aware that he was in public, and continued to his place right-way-forward. There was a palpable excitement as the captain stepped up to his chair, but Jim disregarded it and just plopped down into his seat with all the reverence of a toddler toilet training. McCoy stepped up next to him on the left, surveying the room with his arms crossed in front of his chest. He did that partially to keep his gruff reputation intact and also to stop himself from pulling on the hem of his shirt. It was a nervous habit he was trying to break, but since he never caught himself doing it, he hadn't made any headway.

Even with the precaution of crossing his arms, he couldn't keep still. It didn't look like anyone else could, either. It seemed everyone but Spock was tapping on their stations, playing with their hair, or cracking their knuckles (if the guy in the corner kept doing that, McCoy swore to any deity out there he'd use his most painful hypo when it came time for annual physicals). Every once and a while, a girl to the left of the view screen let out a squeak that no one had yet acknowledged. McCoy made a mental note to check the girl's file for anxiety issues. Random, mouse-like squeaking was not a normal response to stress. After the fourth little "eep", McCoy saw the ensign to the girl's right elbow her and give her a holier-than-thou look. At first the doctor found that rather rude and was about to call the neighbor out on it, but then he saw them reach out and hold each other's hands.

' _Guess they're friends. Weird friends, who do weird things, but who am I to talk_?' McCoy thought. It was then he became aware he standing next to an empty chair. Jim was up and about, doing his normal 'I'm so awesome, space travel and exploration are casual, la-de-da things for me!' check list.

Confidently striding around the bridge? Check

Abrupt changes in topic? Check

Clapped at least two people on the shoulder? Only one so far, so not quite a check.

Idiom that confuses Spock? Check

Grin that makes the ladies swoon? Check ( _the cheeky bastard_ )

McCoy wasn't about to begrudge his friend the routine, though. It was basically Jim's version of nervously tapping a pen on a desk or gnawing on a pencil; just a nervous habit and mostly an act. Sometimes projecting an emotion you want to feel actually helps you feel it; the doctor had done it on more than one occasion when he and his nurses were facing an especially difficult surgery. There were a few people who actually smiled when they were sad, just so people would treat them like they were happy; that, in turn, made them feel better.

It was only a temporary fix, though. Do it too often and it can do more damage than good. When he still worked at Emory in Atlanta, one his friends in the nursing staff had battled severe depression for years and hadn't told anyone; she didn't even want her good friends to know because she didn't want to be treated differently. So, she smiled, trying to fight a losing battle alone while trying to convince everyone (including herself) nothing was wrong.

McCoy looked around the bridge. There were a few people whose nerves were clear, like squeaky-mouse-girl. It was those people he put aside for a moment, instead focusing on the smiling ones. There were a few there whose smiles were genuine or just covering nerves, like Jim. But there were a small number of people who seemed to be covering sadness. It was to be expected; they were leaving most of their families behind. He made a mental note to keep a close eye on crew morale for the next few weeks.

The doctor's gaze snapped to his friends; they were all there except for Scotty. He wondered how bad this was for them and what they were leaving behind. He didn't know much about any of their families, except for Jim and Pavel. McCoy looked over at the young navigator, still dutifully concentrating on the screen before him. _'Please_ ,' the doctor pleaded in his mind; ' _let him be all right. Let them all be all right_.'

McCoy let his mind wander for a time, but it wasn't long before his eyes fell on the view screen. He'd managed to avoid looking at it so far and thought he'd be able to get off the bridge without really seeing it at all, but no such luck. No holographic images were displayed, so all the screen did was offer a spectacular view of the stars. It was beautiful, he couldn't deny it. It looked peaceful, like snow, though McCoy didn't have much experience with ice beyond what he put in his drinks. But like ice and snow and pretty-looking cold stuff in general, space could kill you. Until you approached one of those distant points of light, everything looked safe and calm. That was a lie though. Deceived by quiet majesty, you let your guard down… and then freeze, die, and EXPLODE.

Yep. Space was pretty. But saying it was safe was a great, big lie. A "liar, liar pants-on-fire-from-getting-near-a-giant-ball-of-plasma" kind of lie.

Out of nowhere, Jim was next to him, talking, and clapping a hand on his shoulder ( _there was the final check on the Jim Kirk confidence checklist_ ). McCoy had no idea what Jim had said.

"Five years in space, God help me," he groused; it was the first 'Bones-y' comment he could think of.

It must have been the expected answer, because Jim moved past him and then sat in The Chair. There was some more talking – a lot more talking – and a ship-wide broadcast – mostly _official_ checklist type stuff – and then…

"Disengage."

Those distant lights from giant balls of ionized gas began to drift across the view screen and McCoy's stomach lurched. According to his body, the artificial gravity, and the internal inertial dampener, he wasn't moving. According to the plasma balls billions of miles away, he most certainly was. Disconcerting. That's what space was. And McCoy did not like it one bit.

"Ready for warp, sir," Sulu reported from the helm.

The bridge held its breath; not a sound escaped anyone. McCoy felt the urge to double over and maybe puke a little. Five years in space on this flying monstrosity (not that he'd ever use that word around Scotty).

Finally Jim leaned back in his seat.

"Punch it."

The distant was then not-so-distant and there were streaks of light filling the view screen instead of points, flitting by in endless waves (reminded him of the ocean and getting seasick, so he chose to simply ignore the screen for the rest of his time on the bridge). There was a modulating echo as people began to breathe again, letting out shaky puffs of air and nervous laughter. To the shock of all, the first person to speak was the CMO.

"Well, that was anticlimactic." A few people laughed or snorted in appreciation of his wit (he could be funny if the mood struck him) and then returned to what they were supposed to be doing. "If it's all the same to you, Captain, I'll be heading back to my Med Bay now," he stated, staring straight at his friend. He took no notice of the bright lights flashing past the corner of his eye; they came from the view screen and he could very easily ignore them. Very easily, indeed, thank you.

"Sure, sure. You're dismissed. I'll send you those files you asked for," Jim replied, waving him towards the turbolift.

"Thanks, I appreciate it," McCoy called over his shoulder, already approaching the doors to the lift. "Don't get us killed until I get to Med Bay. It'll save time."

"No problem, I'll try not to," retorted the captain. The doors to the turbolift whooshed shut, and McCoy gave his destination to the empty room. The lights in the corners flicked past, a much more welcome sight than the rushing lights outside. When the doors opened on Med Bay's deck he felt the tension in his shoulders release a little, though he couldn't pinpoint the exact cause.

Med Bay wasn't too far from the turbolift; it was central to the ship. It had to be, to be practical. Not only did the radially central position help it be equidistant from all points along the edge of the saucer on a single deck, it also provided extra padding in case the hull was breached. Plus, it was on the middle deck vertically, so everywhere in the main saucer section could be serviced equally. ' _Only one problem with that_ ,' McCoy thought, walking sedately down the hall, ' _Engineering isn't in the saucer and they're usually the ones with the accidents._ ' McCoy stepped through the doors to Med Bay.

"Oh, God! Already?" he shouted. Marcus J. Lowen, the terrified red shirt from the shuttle that morning, was laying on a biobed, holding a pack of ice to his forehead. "Five minutes! Not even five minutes! _Maybe_ three minutes underway into a five year mission and we already have an injury! I'm a doctor, not a babysitter, damn it!" McCoy saw Nurse Jenkins duck out of view into the labs, and a few startled Ensigns doing final checks suddenly remembered they had somewhere else they needed to be. McCoy marched up to the biobed to the sight of Marcus struggling to sit up. "Easy, Ensign. Lay back down. I take it a nurse already took a look at you? You remember which one?" Marcus blinked up at him and then sent his gaze roaming across the room.

"I dunno," Marcus mumbled. "Pre'y blon' un'…" he slurred with a dopey smile on his face. Pretty, blonde girl, huh? The was going to be Chapel, Frost, or Schroeder. McCoy took a quick glance around; Frost was in the corner, testing the broken tricorder McCoy had somehow gotten a hold of earlier that day.

"Nurse Frost," McCoy called across the room. She looked up and McCoy gestured toward the biobed where Marcus was now smiling at the ceiling. Frost smirked; whatever had happened had her full of Schadenfreude. McCoy made a mental note to talk to her about the importance of a good bedside manner.

"Chapel," Frost stated and then jerked her head toward McCoy's office door. "She's in your office with Schroeder," she reported, still with a smirk on her face. McCoy really couldn't do much about her natural personality, so he dismissed it from his mind for the moment and walked to his office. Before he entered he stopped himself.

"Do not let him fall asleep," he commanded Frost. McCoy didn't need to stick a tricorder in Marcus' face or shine a penlight in his eyes to tell the kid had a concussion. Frost seemed unconcerned, though. She waved a hand at him.

"Yeah, yeah, I got it!" she exclaimed, never taking her eyes off of the tricorder, which she was now prying open. McCoy opened his mouth, trying to figure out whether he should call her out on her behavior now or later. He opted for later. McCoy took a split second to flag down little Aarons, the only nurse in the room who hadn't found somewhere else to be when the doctor had walked into the room.

"Keep an eye on Lowen, will you?" he asked the nurse, who nodded and went to stand by the single occupied biobed. McCoy hesitated for another second before opening his office door and was greeted by the sound of laughter.

"I wasn't aware this was social hour," McCoy announced. He had to choke down an undignified giggle when Schroeder tripped over a chair leg in her haste to get to her feet. Chapel rose from her seat in a calm and professional manner, also apparently swallowing her own laughter. "So what happened with Mr. Icepack out there?" McCoy inquired, walking around his desk and sinking into his chair.

"Hit his head on a low clearance beam in Engineering. He managed to give himself a big bruise and a bad concussion. I wanted to wait 'til you got here to treat him so you would have to do the paperwork," Chapel replied, sliding his PADD across the desk. "I thought you wouldn't want to miss out of the first injury on board. You're welcome." She smirked. Frost must have been giving her lessons.

"No, thank you, really, I always appreciate having to fill out five different forms the all ask for the same information and all go to the same place. I love it, I really do; always a fun time," McCoy deadpanned in response. Sighing, he continued, "Go ahead and treat him. But only treat the concussion, leave the bruise. Might make him duck next time."

Chapel turned to the exit where Schroeder was hovering, clutching a hypospray and PADD. They stepped up to the door and it opened at the same time as McCoy cleared his throat. The doctor picked up his PADD and flicked the incident report up, sending it skittering over to the PADD Schroeder held. "Congratulations, Chapel. You get to teach our newest nurse how to do an Enterprise incident report. Have fun." Chapel smirked (she really needed to stop doing that), but Schroeder looked indignant.

"But I already know how to do an incident report! You don't leave the Academy without knowing that!" she protested. If McCoy had to guess, he would say the awkward way she had tensed up was to stop herself from stomping her foot.

"Captain Kirk does things a little bit differently in the filing department," Chapel said, leading Schroeder out of the office. "Tries to make sure the right people always have access to the right information-" McCoy's office door flew shut, cutting off the rest of her sentence. He barely had enough time lean back in his chair before a tiny "Download Pending" notification popped up in the upper right hand corner of the PADD on his desk.

"Speak of the devil…" he said to the empty room.

-0-

 **Okay, so it wasn't THAT short, but even I'll admit that not much happened. Sorry about that. But there's lots and lots of new information in the next chapter!**

 **Sorry-not-sorry that there's been so much from McCoy recently. McCoy again next chapter and then we finally circle back around to Sulu in chapter 16.**

 **Thanks again to justokay for beta-ing**


	15. Chapter 15: Peruse

**Due to a series of events** **that were entirely my fault** **, only the first half of this chapter has been beta-ed (thanks to justok, for putting up with all of my busy-ness). Hopefully the second half isn't that bad.**

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Chapter 15: Peruse

McCoy took a look at the list of new files he had access to. All started with either "Brooke, M.R." or "Whitten, J.R."

Well, that clinched it; even if all of the similarities he'd seen before then hadn't convinced him Ensign Whitten was Joanna, the initials were the final nail in the coffin. He had suggested "Renee" as Joanna's middle name for the sole purpose of making her "Joanna Renee McCoy" which shortened to "J.R. McCoy", or "Junior McCoy". Well, maybe that wasn't the sole purpose. Joanna Renee McCoy had a nice rhythm to it…. But still, the initials were actually a big determining factor. As it stood, though, her name looked more like "Whitten Junior", which McCoy hoped was anything but the case. It was a funny coincidence that Brooke's first two initials stood for "Mister."

McCoy tapped on Brooke's main file, which blessedly opened. According to the blazing bold letters at the top of the file, Brooke's full name was Maximilian Rory Brooke. Wow. What a mouthful. The Ensign's main file didn't have much to be alarmed by. Blind. Uses guide dog. Friendly. Do Not Pet (A rule that Jim had already broken). Bouts of childhood asthma. He flicked past the public information; he needed to know the nitty-gritty, not the broad generalizations put out there for public consumption. According to his medical history, Brooke was remarkably healthy. He had all of his vaccinations and there weren't any serious illnesses. The worst of any of them was one bout of strep throat when he was eight and appendicitis when he was eleven. He'd never even broken a bone. He was the picture of health and had passed all of the Starfleet physical examinations required for cadets in the Communications track. Not bad, not bad at all.

And then McCoy scrolled down to optional medical procedures. His jaw dropped.

There had been fourteen surgeries attempting to fix Brooke's eyes. McCoy idly wondered at how miraculous it was that not a single one of those had resulted in any infections.

Brooke had been born blind and his parents had tried three times in the first year of his life to have his eyes fixed. None of the surgeries worked and the doctor had told Brooke's parents to stop putting the poor kid through all the trauma of surgery and just learn to live with it. Outraged at the doctor's refusal of another attempt, they'd gone to a different doctor they found through an advertisement; that man operated on little-one-and-a-half-year-old Brooke yet again, this time leaving the side of the child's face scarred.

McCoy switched files to personal history. After that fourth surgery, Brooke's parents had sued the second doctor for malpractice (they remarkably had the good sense to leave the first doctor out of the mater). The lawsuit resulted in the revelation of several other botched procedures and a forged doctorate. McCoy felt his lips curl into a sneer and his nostrils flare. He remembered seeing reports about the case on TV. The not-doctor had been condemned to twenty years in prison, days before little Brooke's third birthday…

McCoy felt his stomach drop to the floor when he realized that case had been just over twenty years before and that monster was out again, roaming the streets. The revulsion he felt brought back a memory of the same feeling. He was standing in a bakery at two in the morning. Windows made foggy with water stains revealed nothing but a dark street outside; the sole light inside was a whining, fluorescent tube that hung from the ceiling. In the corner was an old tube television, secured to the wall with only duck tape and prayer, swaying in a way that made McCoy take a step and a half backwards. Rachel had been pregnant with Joey at the time, and Leonard-the-most-awesome-est-amazing-est-fantastic-est-husband-ever was driven from his home in search of an orange muffin and a chocolate drizzled bear claw at one in the morning. It had taken him an hour to even find an open bakery. That was how he had ended up there, shoes squeaking on a suspiciously sticky floor and staring at the rerun of a news story from that afternoon. When McCoy heard the number of lives that imposter had managed to ruin, he'd nearly thrown up. The sickly sweet odor coming from the back of the store did not help his stomach settle, and he walked out of the dingy bakery feeling strangely irate and nauseated at the same time.

It was almost surreal, how well he remembered that night. It was just over two decades prior and he could still remember walking outside the bakery's clouded door and smelling the odor of ozone. The smell heralded rain that would drench him as he walked back into the house, finding half the cookies he had baked that afternoon devoured… despite the fact that he'd left them in for too long and they were essentially lumps of charcoal. He could remember everything about his life at the time. He'd been halfway through medical school, a newlywed (sort of; it had been a little less than a year), and a soon-to-be-father. Aside from being up in the middle of the night in a part of town he never wanted to go to again, he'd been happy as a clam. ' _Funny the curve balls life can throw at you…_ ' McCoy thought, staring blankly at the Starfleet PADD on his desk. He shook himself and resumed looking at Brooke's record of optional surgery.

Some of the operations were minor, just cosmetic attempts to reduce the appearance of the scars. There were two major tries at restoring Brooke's eyesight, both failed. All of the cosmetic surgery had failed, too. Well, it had helped, just not a lot. Turns out Brooke had hypertrophic scarring. In layman's terms that just meant overactive scar tissue. Figures. Not only was the kid healthy, his body was _too_ good at healing itself. He was basically the medical opposite of Jim.

McCoy flicked over to Brooke's personnel file to pull up his Starfleet ID picture to see just how bad the end result was. He winced when the picture popped up, but all things considered, it wasn't too bad. The webs of scarring were a bit jarring against Brooke's dark skin, but it was less extensive than McCoy had initially expected. Some of the cosmetic surgery had to have worked better than reported. Or maybe the original damage wasn't as bad as it seemed. Scrolling back up to the top of the page, McCoy made a mental note to ask Brooke whether the remaining scars caused any pulling or discomfort, since he knew he could help with that.

 _'I am making way too many mental notes,_ ' McCoy thought, and pulled up a blank page on his PADD to type up the few he could remember making that day.

-call in Ensign Brooke for consultation (scars, guide dog, special accommodations, etc)

-call in all crew with dog allergies for allergy shots

-ask for periodic reports on crew morale from Chiefs and Commanders (Not Spock. Vulcans are not good with human morale evaluation)

-check weird-ass broken tricorder

 _'Wait… Frost is doing that.'_ McCoy deleted the note.

-Kidnap Scotty for psych eval and conversation re: "too perfect ship"

-Kidnap Sulu for psych eval and conversation re: "too perfect ship" and keeping your nose in your own damn business

-Pavel

McCoy hesitated, wondering what to write about the navigator.

He couldn't do a psych eval. If Starfleet caught wind they would wonder why he was doing another one so soon. About three months before, just after Pavel's accident, they'd asked for one. The doctor grimaced at the memory… but not of the psych eval; he'd never done one. He cringed at the thought of fudging it. He'd never told anyone about the request; not Pavel, not Jim. He had just taken the results of the last one, changed a few things around, and resubmitted it. He had done a bang up job, too. No one had questioned it.

McCoy had been sure at the time that being with his friends would be the best thing for Pavel. The little navigator didn't have any family he was very close to. He and his mother had corresponded a few times, but that was about it; there was love there, sure, but other than that mother and son didn't have much in common. The result was an amiable silence most of the time, approved of by both parties. So, much like McCoy, Pavel had found Jim and the bridge crew of the Enterprise a perfect, but dysfunctional, substitute family. That was why McCoy had thought that keeping Pavel as close to his friends as possible – and as far away from Earth, but that was another story entirely – was the best thing for him. So, the doctor had fudged the results for fear the actual ones would take the navigator away from the family he desperately needed.

Now, though, he felt an uncomfortable shift in energy among the bridge crew, especially Pavel. McCoy didn't know what he was worried about precisely. According to his most recent conversation with the navigator, nothing was wrong. That didn't change the panic attack though, and it didn't change the truth of McCoy's gut feeling, developed through years of experience. Something was wrong, even though he didn't know what it was.

He just decided to leave the note as it was. "Pavel"

Growling, McCoy tugged on his shirt's hem and then snatched his hand back when he realized what he was doing. There was one last note he needed to make. One fist was clenched on the edge of the desk, trembling; with his other hand, he jabbed the keys on the screen.

"J"

"O"

"A"

"N"

"N"

Slamming his finger onto the delete button, the cursor flew backwards; it removed not only "Joann-", but "Pavel" and "-amn business" as well. After retyping the last two notes on the list, McCoy saved the file and minimized it, leaving Joey's name off the bottom. He wouldn't need reminding for that anyway.

McCoy stared at the clock in the corner, the second hand ticking away without a care in the world. He took a few deep breaths – four ticks in, four ticks out, four ticks in, four ticks out – and then gave Joanna Renee Whitten's file a sharp jab before he could stop himself. He navigated to the scanned image of her ID card. The girl in the picture was Joey. No mistaking that little half-smile. McCoy thought it best to ignore the look in her eyes that accompanied it; maybe she had just been having a bad day and that was why there was such a hard edge to her stare.

"Well. Crap," McCoy sighed, rubbing his hand over his face and leaning back in the cold plastic chair. He stared at the ceiling for a minute, and wondered whether he should tell someone that there was a small discoloration in the corner shaped roughly like a teddy bear.

There were several muted impulses fighting for attention. He wanted to throw the PADD across the room like a child. He wanted to race through the ship, snatch Joey from her station, and toss her in an escape pod back to Earth. He wanted to throttle Jim for keeping his pet project ensigns a secret, because if McCoy had known he could have stopped Joey from getting on the ship at all. And he wanted to make a mad dash to wherever Joey was, pick her up, and hug her harder than ever before; even harder than the first time he saw her after the divorce was finalized.

It was only when the desk started shaking that McCoy remembered his death grip on its edge; he released it, his white knuckles turning red from the rush of blood. For the life of him, he couldn't figure out why he was feeling all of this now; he had already basically known Joey was Ensign Whitten. Who else could it have been? Another brown haired, grey eyed, deaf girl who just happened to have his jaw and nose and look exactly like his most recent picture of Joey?

The picture hadn't been sent to him by Joanna. It was her roommate, Macy, who made the effort to keep McCoy informed on his daughter's whereabouts. ' _Not well enough, it seems_.' The thought swam to the surface of McCoy's mind and he unconsciously navigated to the photo gallery. As CMO, he was able to have all of his personal files uploaded directly to his PADD instead of having a locked file in the main computer.

Thumbnails of twenty years worth of photographs popped up on the screen, and ninety percent of them were Joey. They were all labeled by date, the oldest ones at the top; the first few were taken when Joey hadn't even been born yet. They were scanned Polaroids of the nursery, where little ducks and turtles smiled from the walls. That had been the compromise he and Rachel had come up with when they had an argument over Joey's room.

Rachel had wanted a pink, white, and purple princess theme, and McCoy had been more than happy to let her take the reins at first. But, then a pillow the color of Pepto-Bismol had crossed the threshold of his house. After that, he had to put his foot down. Trying to temper the endless waves of tiaras and princess decorations, McCoy had claimed to want a navy and white ocean theme for the nursery. Rachel had been appalled and had thrown a roll pillow covered with frolicking unicorns at his head. The ensuing argument had held many alternatives proposed by both sides; cowgirl, meadow, fairy (Dear Lord, no! That would be worse!), jungle... But the final decision was a woodland pond scene, done in light green, yellow, and blue; that way, he wouldn't feel the urge to spew glitter and kick defenseless baby unicorns every time he entered his daughter's room. Which was really what McCoy had wanted all along.

The first picture that actually had his daughter in it showed tiny, newborn Joanna Renee in a yellow knit cap, sleeping soundly in her hospital basinet. It was odd, seeing her like that; from about day 2 of her life onward, she had been a bundle of activity and noise. McCoy felt a bittersweet nostalgia when he realized that might have been the only time before the age of ten that Joey had kept her mouth shut. Ten was when she had lost her hearing.

McCoy scrolled past pictures of horses and birthday parties and talent shows, finally ending up at the age 16-20 range. There were about fifteen pictures, only four of which had been sent by Joey.

The most recent picture of Joey was from the previous August. It was of Macy and Joey sitting on a bench in an aquarium; it was one of those themed aquariums, where the underwater tunnels people can walk through are made to look like stone and the benches look "natural." Macy and Joey leaned together, both trying to get in the picture. Curly brown hair mingled with curlier auburn, though both looked dark brown in the low lighting. Next to both of them sat black drawstring bags that-

"Wait a minute." The words left McCoy's mouth unbidden and echoed softly around the room. He narrowed his eyes and enlarged the picture on the bag next to Macy. He hadn't seen it the first time, too busy looking at his daughter to care what anything else looked like.

That bag. Had. The damn. Starfleet. Emblem. On it.

McCoy scrolled back to the previous picture, another one that Macy had the good grace to send him. He hadn't realized it the first time, because he hadn't been looking for it, but the window behind Joey showed a clear view of Starfleet headquarters' grounds. He scrolled backward again. In every picture Macy had sent, there was a nod to Starfleet. In every picture Joey sent, all indications of location were carefully concealed by framing and creative blocking. Joey had deliberately avoided letting her father know she had enlisted and had apparently demanded that her roommate not tell him either. But apparently, Macy hadn't agreed and tried to drop hints anyway. For the past four years. Again, he spoke without meaning to.

"I am an idiot."

"What makes you say that?"

McCoy jumped a foot in the air; he hadn't even heard the door open. Sulu stood in the entry, his entire face red as a beet with a dripping nose and watering eyes in its center.

"Nothing. What happened to you?" the doctor asked. He quickly closed all of the open files on his PADD. He didn't want to look at them anymore.

-0-

 **Okay, so that's it for this chapter! I hope it cleared some things up! Next chapter will be from Sulu's perspective and we get to see Brooke, as well as someone else who will be important. Chapter 16 will be titled 'Riveted,' if that tells you anything *eyebrow wiggle*. After that, more than likely we'll have the time skip.**

 **There might be a time skip in the uploading of chapters as well, since, uh, this is it. This is basically all I have, aside from the plot. I've been really busy, so I'm not as far ahead as I thought I'd be (I'm not ahead at all, actually). I hope I can fix that, but no guarantees... Aside from next week's chapter! That will most definitely go up this time next Saturday, with a clearer view of a future update schedule. I hope I can stick with the every Saturday thing, but we'll see.**

 **Thanks to everyone reading! I really appreciate you sticking with this story, despite the recent sporadic updates.**

 **See you next week! :)**


	16. Chapter 16: Riveted

**EDIT: Just saw Star Trek Beyond and came back to change a few things**

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Chapter 16: Riveted

Space was fundamentally amazing. Hikaru didn't often get to just sit and appreciate that, but right then, flying through familiar skies, he could. He could just stare at the black and know that at the exact point he was staring, there was probably a star or a globular cluster or a galaxy that was so far away its light hadn't reached him yet. And maybe in that galaxy or around that star was a planet, a little hunk of rock hurtling through space, with enough elements in the right proportions to create the fundamentals of life. Life that may look up at the stars and wonder what those dim lights are and wonder how to get to them. And maybe that life could reach their sky, and someday, when Hikaru was long dead, end up sitting just where he was then.

The sight was far less impressive at warp – just a whole lot of shiny lines – but still. The sentiment was there.

"Ensign Brooke!" Kirk hollered from over Hikaru's shoulder. The pilot cringed against his station. It was easy to tell that Jim had spent his early life on a farm, just by the sheer volume he could get out of his voice. Out of the corner of his eye, Hikaru noticed Nyota twitch to slap her hands over her ears; she had enough composure to restrain herself, but she still snapped at Kirk.

"Captain," she reprimanded, and jerked her head toward the turbolift. No wonder she was a linguist; the meaning she could put into a single word was astounding. What Hikaru got out of that particular statement ran along the lines of, "James T. Kirk, you are refusing to adhere to a rule that preschoolers learn, and it is ridiculous. Use your inside voice, toddler." But what was with the head jerk? Hikaru turned all the way around in his chair and saw a man in red standing just inside the entry to the bridge. That had to be the Ensign Brooke that everyone was talking about. In his hand he clutched a leash.

' _Oh, God_ ,' Hikaru thought as his eyes traveled the length of the leash down to a smiling, golden colored _dog_.

' _Demon spawn_ ,' he thought, narrowing his eyes at the fluffy monstrosity standing at the Ensign's feet. Then he began to feel the itch. It started in his eyes; he blinked, struggling against the urge to rub them, but to no avail. As he knuckled the corner of his eyes, feeling moisture build up on his hand as he did so, he felt the tickle move to the back of his nose and creep its way forward. His eyes were watering worse now, from a combination of the dander released by the tawny spawn of Satan wagging its tail and holding back the sneeze it caused.

"Oh, sorry, Ensign," Kirk apologized. "Slipped my mind that you're sensitive to sound. Crazy that I forgot, huh? Considering that's the exact reason I wanted you here." The captain approached the man in red. "I called you up here to welcome you to the ship and ask if there is anything I can do to…"

Hikaru ignored the captain and focused on keeping the building sneeze inside his nose. He wondered if he should leave the bridge before-

"ACHOO!" Hikaru exploded.

Too late.

"Ach- Achoo! Ugh." He reached up and rubbed at his eyes again. He knew the whole bridge was looking at him, not that he really cared. He was more focused on stopping the flow of tears that were streaming down his face. No, not tears. Water. The flow of water down his face. As a result of allergies. And were totally manly, thank you very much. Everyone can have allergies. Especially of disgusting, fluffy hell hounds.

"Maybe I should be asking you if there's anything I can do, huh, Mr. Sulu? What seems to be the problem?" Kirk inquired.

"A-dog–CHOO!" Hikaru struggled to continue, "I'm allergic."

"Yes, I can see that. Go to sickbay. Get Bones to give you something," Kirk sighed, gesturing to the turbolift behind Brooke.

"Ye-" Hikaru started to say. ' _That was a mistake_ ,' he thought, as halfway out of his chair another sneeze sent him barreling backwards to collapse into it again. He landed with a thud, and would have groaned, but was too busy trying to keep his brain inside his head while he sneezed. Violently. "ACHOO! Ach- Achoo! ACHOO! Ick." he muttered. Snickers filled the bridge, but he couldn't bring himself to open his eyes and find out who was laughing. "Yes, sir," Hikaru finally stated in reply, once he got the endless barrage of sneezes over with. "I'll be back as soon as possible." His stuffed nose made it sound like "pothible." Hikaru heard Pavel snicker beside him. Hypocrite.

Hikaru stumbled towards the lift, past Ensign Brooke and his malevolent hell spawn of fluff. The intense glare Hikaru sent the creature would have made the Goliath quake in his boots. But, no, the thing skulking cutely on the ground did nothing but wag its tail. And smile! ' _Damn dog_ ,' Hikaru thought as the turbolift doors slid closed. _'Five minutes underway and I already have to go to sickbay. That has to be some kind of record for anyone who isn't the captain_.' After all, the captain had ended up in sickbay before the mission even began during the Nero and Nerada incident.

Trying to breathe without sounding like a kazoo, Hikaru leaned against the back panel in the turbolift and closed his eyes (which had way too much liquid in them). He focused on breathing through his mouth, but to no avail; all he could do was wheeze and squeak. When the doors opened onto deck six, Hikaru opened his eyes, only to find his vision was too blurry to do anything.

Eyes watering – they were NOT tears – Hikaru stumbled from the turbolift with a gasping wheeze. He stuck out a hand to catch himself on the smooth wall and hung from it, remembering the first time this had happened. Well, sort of. Truth be told, all he could recall was being three, shouting "Puppy!" at the highest volume his little lungs could manage, and then being unable to breathe. From there after, all "puppies" were considered demon spawn and unfit to share Hikaru's air. Because when they did share his air, he couldn't breathe it.

"Are you alright?" called someone behind him. Their voice was kind, echoing down the hall. Footsteps followed the question, and suddenly there was a shadow across his wavering vision. He was bent double against the wall, so as he blinked his eyes clear, he suddenly realized he was staring at a pair of feet in standard issue Starfleet shoes. He'd seen Starfleet standard issue shoes before; in fact, he owned several pairs. But somehow, this pair was different. Maybe it was the way the person stood. Maybe it was their stance. Maybe it was the way the shoes were rather worn but still well taken care of. No matter the reason behind it all, he was overtaken with the urge to see who was wearing them; blinking up at the person who was casting the shadow, he had to squint against the light that haloed their – no, his – head.

"Are you alright?" the man asked. He was… indescribable. Every adjective that Sulu knew ran through his mind, but still he could not find one that fit.

"Uh," was the intelligent assessment that left his mouth. "Fine."

"You sure?" he asked. He was an Orion and well…. there was a certain grace to his movements that Hikaru could only attribute to advanced combat training. Which made Hikaru vaguely uncomfortable, because that combat training was very attractive on this stranger, and now was not the time for Hikaru to develop feelings for a subordinate. But then Orion-guy cracked a smile and Hikaru decided now was not the time for caution. Five years in space on a very dangerous job? He could die at any time! Now was when he should try to live it up.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm good." Hikaru strained to pull himself upright; he could hardly try to flirt with the guy's stomach. How did he not notice someone this attractive on board? Once he was standing straight (enough) he launched himself into small talk. "I'm Hikaru. Sulu. And, uh…" For a second he couldn't think of anything else to say. ' _Smooth, Hikaru_ ,' he berated himself. "What's your name?"

"Lieutenant Kater Patron. I'm in Security. And there was no need to introduce yourself; almost everyone in Starfleet knows about the Enterprise's bridge crew. Is serving here as exciting as everyone says?" Kater asked. Hikaru felt his admiration for the man grow in leaps and bounds. Kater could carry on a conversation with someone as awkward as Hikaru? Yeah, Hikaru was sure of himself on the bridge, but with romance? Not a chance. And yet Kater still managed to make Hikaru feel like he hadn't royally screwed up!

"Yeah, um, yes, yeah. It's great. Really exciting. Kirk's a good captain, so we, uh…. It's a good ship," Hikaru finished lamely. From down the hall in the opposite direction, Hikaru could hear new footsteps. He turned, discovering that they belonged to the shuttle pilot that had flown up the bridge crew, Sean Nils. Hikaru had been appalled with his abysmal piloting skills; on the ride up Hikaru had nearly burst into the cockpit and taken control of the shuttle himself, just on principle. _'I wonder who flew shuttle one back then, if Nils is here…_ ' Hikaru pondered, but then saw a flash of green the corner of his eye and immediately focused on Kater again. Kater. What an amazing name. A bit unconventional, but hey, at least it had vowels.

"That's good to hear," Kater said. Hikaru had to remind himself that Kater wasn't responding to what Hikaru was thinking; he was replying to when Hikaru had said Kirk was a good captain. "I was worried when I heard about his reputation. Gaila and I knew each other in passing, so I got to listen to some questionable stories."

"Well, he deserved his reputation, at the time. He's improved, though," Hikaru replied, giving as dashing a grin as he was able past his watering eyes. Kater laughed lightly. He had such a nice laugh. Hikaru chuckled, too, and hoped Kater didn't notice how badly his nose was running. It was a lovely moment. They totally made a connection.

And then.

It was ruined.

"Hey, Kat! Let's go!" Nils called from down the hall. ' _Damn it!'_ Hikaru nearly exploded. But didn't. Because he was a gentleman.

"Well, I've got to go. I have a job I need to get back to." Kater dashed down the hall with that amazing, 'had-tons-of-combat-training-and-could-totally-kick-anyone's-ass-and-live' ease… and met up with the crap pilot that flew the bridge crew up earlier. That Ensign Nils was fidgety and nervous, and really should have started on a smaller ship. Farther down, a blonde red shirt from Communications turned to walk with them and they all picked up the pace, leaving Hikaru standing in an empty hallway.

' _Now where could all of them be off t-_ '

"ACHOO!"

' _It probably doesn't matter_ ,' Hikaru thought, stumbling off towards Med Bay. When he got there, the only medical staff in sight was Nurse Aarons, doing paperwork on a PADD, and standing next to a biobed where a prone red shirt was holding an icepack to his head. ' _Ha! So I'm not the first in Med Bay!_ ' Hikaru thought triumphantly. Hikaru peered over Nurse Aaron's shoulder to look on the PADD in his hands. Apparently the red shirt was Ensign Lowen from Engineering and Aarons was trying to clear him for duty. Hikaru didn't really know either of them; in fact, the only reason Hikaru knew of Nurse Aarons was because of his name. Aaron Aarons. What cruel parents would name their child that?

"I already told you," the nurse said, for what appeared to be the nth time, "You're cleared to return to active duty."

"Are you sure? I don't feel right!" Lowen protested, still clutching the icepack. It sloshed a bit; he must have been holding it a long time.

"Excuse me?" Hikaru asked, stumbling forward a little bit. He saw Nurse Aarons had green eyes. They were not and never would be comparable to the natural beauty of Kater's green skin. ' _Dear God_ ,' Hikaru thought, ' _Where the hell did that come from…. And how do I make it go away? Not the time Hikaru! Not the time,_ ' he thought, finally coming to his senses. ' _Why did I do that? Why did I try and flirt? I can't have relationship complications this early into the mission! What happens if we break up_?' Hikaru paused that train of thought to remind himself they weren't even dating and hadn't even said more than a hundred words to each other. ' _I am making this unnecessarily complicated.'_ Jerking himself out of his rather hectic reverie, Hikaru cleared his throat and asked, "Do you know where Doctor McCoy is?"

"Office," Aarons said, gesturing to the back of the room. Hikaru dutifully trouped past the arguing duo and towards the door the nurse had roughly indicated. The pilot stepped up to the door, which opened automatically; inside, McCoy was looking at a PADD.

"I'm an idiot," Hikaru heard the doctor mutter.

"What makes you say that?" Hikaru asked, wandering farther into the room.

"Nothing. What happened to you?" the doctor asked and scrambled to close everything he had up on his PADD. He needn't have bothered. Hikaru never looked over his friend's shoulders.

"Allergies," Hikaru replied. And he nearly followed it up with, ' _And I think I'm in love. Which is rather unfortunate. Right?_ '

-0-

 **A/N: That awkward moment where you spend 12 chapters and over 30,000 words on events that take place in roughly nine hours. I'm not kidding. Chapter 5: Restraint started at about 7 AM, the departure time for the shuttles was 1 PM, the departure time for the Enterprise was 3 PM, and this chapter took place about ten to fifteen minutes after the Enterprise left. So this was more like eight hours and fifteen minutes! Geez! And the 30,000 word count doesn't even include the author's notes! Wow.**


	17. Chapter 17: Observations

**Hello, again! I'm back with chapter 17!**

 **Since the last update I noticed we have a few new readers, so hello new readers! Welcome to the story! We're happy to have you!**

 **Anyway, I should point out that the formatting error with the last chapter has been resolved by a re-upload, so if you had trouble reading it/couldn't read it, you can go back and do that now without having an issue.**

 **And now we hear from Spock. Yay, Spock!**

-0-

Chapter 17: Observations

The mood on board went from rampant excitement to intense boredom in no time flat. Spock did not make this observation entirely on his own; Nyota and Jim gave him some supplementary data about current crew morale, usually during shared meal times and quiet moments on the bridge. There were many of those. What Spock did observe for himself involved an amalgamation of symptoms that persisted throughout the ship.

One of the symptoms was the sudden quiet. For ten on board there was substantial activity somewhere, regardless of the current time. While there was no set "day" and "night" in space, there was the standardized clock that the Federation used to timestamp all communications. The Enterprise was set up so it would be in the middle of its night cycle when the clock tripped over to a new Stardate. This was considered midnight and that time was flanked by the two shifts with the least number of active crew members; theoretically, most people would be sleeping during this time.

Despite the day and night cycle, there was constant activity at all hours for the first week and a half. Someone, somewhere, was always throwing a party, inviting over friends, or hosting a rousing game or sparing session in a communal area. In the middle of the night, when people should be sleeping, the halls were rife with activity and overeager ensigns clamoring for a commander's attention. But then, on night eleven, Spock took a walk.

The halls were vacant; no motion caught the corner of his eyes, no sound the edges of his hearing. Spock found himself missing the primary colored uniforms, despite their garishness and jarring contrast. He looked hard for anyone out and about, but he could not find a single person; the halls were lifeless. Everyone on that deck had to be either on duty or sleeping. He was on the officer's deck, where his room was, and the longer Spock was alone on it, the more he noticed the silence. It was what Jim had once called a "loud" silence.

They had been on an away mission that had "gone more south than Australia." Those were Doctor McCoy's words, verbatim, said to Spock while they were waiting for the remaining members of the away team to wake. They had all been knocked out by a toxic gas that, when inhaled, killed the inhabitants of the world they were exploring. Luckily for the humans on the mission, it didn't kill them; it just rendered them unconscious after they inhaled enough. Spock experienced no adverse effects whatsoever, and had managed to hail the Enterprise to beam them out before the natives realized that they had been subverted by their victim's physiology.

To gas them, the natives had corralled the away team, chasing them into a crevice in the face of a cliff. Believing they had made a clean getaway, Spock, Jim, and the two members of security that had accompanied them decided to stay in the cave until they were sure there were no natives lurking in the area.

The cave had been very, very quiet. After a while, Jim had begun to hum to himself. Ignoring the humming was more difficult than Spock had anticipated, and so he eventually had to ask after the reason for Jim's sudden musical inclination.

"It's just a loud silence, that's all," Jim responded. When Spock had pointed out the nonsensical and contradictory use of language, his friend had (prefaced by an unnecessarily loud sigh) explained what the phrase meant.

"Listen, Spock. There's quiet, there's silence, and then there's loud silence. Quiet is when you're reading and there's a clock ticking or the sound of the air conditioner in the background. Silence is a lack of all or most noise. It's like being outside in the middle of the country without any traffic. A loud silence, though, that's… That's when the birds don't sing. There's no clock, no fan. It's when the wind doesn't blow and you hold your breath even though you don't know why. It's when the hairs on the back of your neck raise up and you clear your throat just to make sure you haven't gone deaf. It's when you look over your shoulder to check you're alone because there's no way that kind of silence is natural. It's when you jump when something moves just in the corner of your eye. It's when you feel like you're dreaming, even though everything around you is screaming you're awake… but that scream doesn't make a sound. That's a loud silence," the captain had explained. When he stopped talking, the lack of noise had taken on a more sinister feel and the weight of it pressed down on Spock's shoulders. One of the security team cleared her throat. The other one began to shift around, rustling his clothing. Everyone in the cave could tell Jim knew what he was talking about; there was a gravity in his words that could not be denied, even by Spock.

Night eleven on the Enterprise was a loud silence. There was no clear reason for any apprehension or concern. Very few people were awake and almost all of those people were on duty, Nyota among them. There was no obvious threat. There was no alarm.

And yet, Spock felt a strange sensation when he strained his sensitive hearing; it was a feeling of isolation and a lack of life. He had felt it before. It had been slightly different and had been crushing in strength, but the sensation was so familiar that Spock had to leave the deck. He did not need to relive the end of Vulcan, not even in his own mind. Spock's walk took him all over the Enterprise, but there was so little going on that he ended up in engineering solely because it was constantly manned.

Another symptom of the changing attitude on board was the unusual performance of the crew. In order to spend five years in space far away from your home and family, you had to be dedicated to your job. As such, most of the crew completed their assigned tasks without much grumbling and what grumbling there was was mostly petty. After about day eight, though, there was a lack of fervor. The engineering deck was a prime example, as Mr. Scott was not atypical of his creed. Most of the Enterprise engineers were enthusiastic about their work. However, due to this sudden change aboard the Enterprise, the men and women in red shirts that Spock saw on his stroll around the deck were not excited in any sense of the word. They went through the motions. Diagnostics. Checks. Routine. That was all.

Spock was walking through the engineering decks, pondering the unusual atmosphere, when a black ferret bounded across his path. It was named Enter, and though Jim had done his best to be rid of them, Enter and his sister, Prize, were the new ship's mascots. As unorthodox as it was to have unapproved animals on board the Enterprise, Spock had found that all members of the crew appreciated their presence. Also, though the ferrets seemed to dislike a select number of the crew, they had acclimated immediately to their new surroundings and none of the ship's systems had to be adjusted to compensate for their stature or lifestyle. As a result they were left to their own devices and wandered around the ship, rubbing up against people they liked and hissing at the select few they did not.

Suddenly Enter spit and slunk out of sight. A man in red, apparently one of the chosen few the ferrets reacted negatively to, was walking down the hall.

"Commander," the ensign in red acknowledged, walking past Enter's hiding place and Spock with a bored air. At least, boredom was how Spock interpreted his dry tone of voice and heavily lidded eyes.

"Ensign," the first officer acknowledged, continuing his walk. But then, Spock stopped in his tracks and stared at a random wall; the pipes that were screwed to it were straight as arrows with perfect right angles, without a speck of rust or grease to be seen. Spock's posture was similar; entriely straight and not even an expert could find fault. After a moment of silent contemplation, he continued, "A moment, if you will, Ensign."

The officer walking by froze, nearly tripping over his own feet in the process. He backpedaled to end up next to Spock and looked at him with eyes that seemed much more alert; they were wider and remarkably focused on what was before him.

"Yes, Commander Spock? How can I help?" The ensign had black hair, a faded bruise on his forehead, and a startled expression.

"What is your current assessment of engineering?" Spock inquired. The ensign was floored, but recovered himself as quickly as he could. But, as the ensign opened his mouth to answer, a thought occurred to Spock and he continued, "What I want is not necessarily a technical assessment. It should be a general analysis. Include any problems or positive notes that immediately occur to you; this is not a formal report."

"Um, well, uh, there's this ship. I was on the Enterprise before Khan, and well… this is just weird. We haven't had to do much down here to keep her running. Usually there are some bumps to iron out, but so far we've only had a replicator malfunction. And that was because someone was messing with it." The ensign paused, but at Spock's expectant look cleared his throat and launched back into his account. "Everyone's bored! We have nothing to do except maintenance and even that isn't really difficult right now. It's engineering, though! There are always dry spells, but never this early in a mission. It's… It's discouraging, you know, for the rest of the mission. We don't want to be away from home for so long if we're not doing anything." But then the ensign cut himself off and clammed up.

"I understand. Thank you, Ensign. I'm afraid I did not ask your name. Would you supply it?" Spock was of the opinion he should know the source of his information for future reference. The ensign, however, did not seem to understand Spock's logic and only grew fidgety; clearly he believed he was in trouble.

"Ensign Lowen, Marcus J."

Spock nodded and filed away the name for later use.

"Thank you, Ensign Lowen," he replied and continued on his way, wandering around the deck.

Nyota had told Spock that when a commanding officer recognized and used the names of his or her subordinates it strengthened loyalty and increased crew morale. Spock did not understand why it worked, but it did; maybe it was the individual recognition. Oddly, that was one lesson Jim had learned before Spock. In fact, it seemed the captain didn't even need to learn it and did it instinctively. Perhaps that was the reason so many on the Enterprise were loyal to him and satisfied with their assignment; the captain recognized individual crew members for their contributions, even when they did nothing particularly exceptional.

That was one of the largest differences Spock had noticed between Vulcans and humans. Humans' version of credit and acknowledgement was baffling. Vulcans did not expect recognition for the tasks that were expected of them and they did not strive to be exceptional; it just happened in the course of their duties. Humans both expected recognition and strove to be exceptional; though in Spock's experience, rarely did those events overlap. There was recognition for the mundane and silence for incredible kindness or intense labor. Humans were driven to clamor for the emotional ministrations of others, even when they did nothing to deserve it. And yet, the truly exceptional and the truly amazing quietly observed as those not as talented or skilled took their prizes (with a few notable exceptions).

In the past, Spock had found the whole institution of human recognition with prizes and trophies ridiculous; half human he may be, but in that regard, he had been Vulcan. His opinion on extraneous and unnecessary prizes had been slightly changing of late. Crew morale was important, and he was working with a ninety percent human crew. Ultimately, though, there may be exceptions to the rule, but a rule it remained. Humans were odd in their need for emotional recognition.

During his musings, Spock had wandered deeper into the engineering portion of the ship, away from the core. He noticed he had ascended several flights of steps and was now walking through the portion holding the main computer. At the end of the walkway he was on sat the internal long-distance communications array (ILCA), directly connected with the external array used to transmit long distance messages that required a strong and focused signal (ELCA).

Alongside Mr. Scott, Nyota stood next to the ILCA. They seemed to be having a fervent discussion about it; Mr. Scott was gesticulating wildly while whispering, and Nyota appeared to be using Federation Standard sign language to swear. She stood in silent agitation, her long fingers making exact and precise movements to shout out curse words without so much as opening her mouth. At Spock's approach, Mr. Scott stopped talking and his mouth formed a grim line; Nyota turned to face Spock and she gave a half smile through troubled eyes. Spock did not say anything; they would both know his question. After a few moments, the Chief Engineer inhaled deeply through his nose and threw his head back to puff it out. His eyes were closed. When they opened again, he turned to face Spock entirely; Mr. Scott's expression dared the universe to cross him, but it was too late for intimidation tactics against the world, even if they did work. Finally, the engineer opened his mouth and paused, solemn.

"Something… is wrong."

Spock had heard several times about the unusual perfection of the Enterprise, from many sources other than Ensign Lowen and Mr. Scott. Spock had not been worried. But at those words, he felt his throat constrict, even though he did not know why.

Waking the captain up was an easy task; he was a light sleeper, which was a quality Spock would never have associated with Jim if the commander had to guess about it.

"What happened?" were the first words out of Jim's mouth. The captain was still slouched in bed, half-sitting and half-lying down, and he stared at his first officer who stood with perfect posture.

"Mr. Scott and Lieutenant Uhura believe that someone has sabotaged our internal long-distance communications array," Spock stated. He believed that Nyota would have approved of his method of delivering the news; she was usually a supporter of the gentle approach, but Jim needed to know the facts. He could make his own assessments.

"We can't send messages!" Jim exclaimed, jumping out of bed with wild eyes. Evidently, he hadn't deigned to put on a shirt for sleeping, only pajama pants. The captain dashed over to the restroom at the back of the captain's quarters to snatch a robe that hung from the door handle and threw his arm through the right side sleeve. It then occurred to Spock that he should have been more specific to avoid misleading the captain to a false conclusion. Though Spock's report had been concise and factual, it was not accurate.

"No, our ability to send and receive messages has not been affected," Spock corrected. Jim froze, one arm bent awkwardly behind his back, trying to find the sleeve of the robe. The sleeve was on his shoulder, but Spock decided not to tell him. The commander had been informed that imparting excess information could be worse to humans than not imparting any at all.

Spock stood by his statement that humans could be very odd.

"Then what! – what! – what do you mean by 'sabotage?'" The captain resumed forcing his arm through a nonexistent sleeve, growling every time his arm slipped against the smooth side of the robe.

"I believe that Mr. Scott and Lieutenant Uhura are more qualified to answer that question. They await your presence in meeting room five." For some reason Spock could not fathom, Jim glared at him for a moment and then resumed trying to put on the rest of his robe. "There is no rush," Spock continued. "You have time to dress fully. I will see you soon." The first officer turned and walked toward the door. Behind him, Jim spluttered.

"If there's no rush why'd you wake me up in the middle of the night?" the captain exclaimed. Spock heard him whip off the robe and toss it across the room. It occurred to the first officer that Jim had been in an unusually bad mood for the past few days and waking him up in the middle of the night would not help his emotional state. Spock had begun to wonder if he should speak to McCoy about it, as the doctor seemed to be the source of the captain's bad mood. Nyota had informed Spock that the two had quarreled about something. Though, she had also informed Spock that he should not get involved, so that would preclude Spock asking either of them about it... As such, the first officer opted to ignore the captain's general demeanor and simply reply to his comment.

"There is no day or night in space, Captain. I thought you would know that. Also, I woke you because, though there is no rush, this matter is urgent. Please attend accordingly," Spock replied, and the door whooshed shut behind him.

Down the hall snuffled Prize, the other of the ship's new mascots. The little brown ferret looked up at him with inquiring eyes and suddenly Spock had the incomprehensible urge to shrug at the tiny animal as if to say, "I don't know why the captain is so odd." But that would make no sense. The ferret did not understand vocal or body language and it had no way of knowing about the conversation that just transpired, even if it could understand it. Before Spock had time to fully analyze the unusual impulse, the ferret bounded off down a perpendicular hallway and the commander lost sight of it.

Spock opted to follow its lead and continue toward the meeting room. He didn't have time to think of ferrets when there was work to be done.

-0-

 **Thanks to justok for beta-reading part of this (and the reason for the "part of this" is that I didn't get the whole thing done in time. Fingers crossed I caught all the extra typos. And I actually keep up with the next few chapters.)**

 **On that note there's good news! The next chapter is mostly finished! It's not from anyone's POV, but it's also not quite in third-person... you'll get it when I post it. 18 is also a bit more comedic, so we get to see "** **Ferrets: the Origin Story** **" as well as a few of the more nonsensical adventures of the Enterprise. Any requests? Comment!**

 **And yes, I do realized I am just teasing you with the first problem the Enterprise has had. I've been told not to apologize as much, though, so I'm just going to say "MUHAHAHA" for now and reassure who ever actually reads my rambling author's notes that you will know what's wrong and why it's a big deal in chapter 19. And soon after that (Not sure what chapter number right now. My notebook is across the room and I'm to lazy to get up and look for chapter number) we get to meet Joanna. Woo! Daddy issues!**

 **See you next week!**

 **EDIT:**

 **I made a few boo boos. I think I fixed them...**


	18. Chapter 18: Key

**It was dark and stormy night...**

 **And I finally posted another chapter.**

 **Wow, good job me.**

 **I know I'm not supposed to apologize now, so I'll just say I'm happy to be back! I missed this! Today I got a burst of inspiration and was in the zone for a few hours finishing this chapter.**

 **Those of you who haven't forgotten that this story existed because of my unintentional hiatus might notice that this is chapter 18 (which was originally a comic relief chapter). There is an explanation for this. Part of the reason that this has taken so long is that I wrote myself into a corner, where I only had one way out: a summary. I had skipped so much that the amount of back tracking and explaining I would need to do would have been sickening. So, I came up with a very simple plan: back track. Seems kind of stupid, right? Back track to avoid back tracking? But this is the better option; it's back tracking in writing instead of back tracking in story. The result is that the comic relief chapter that was 18 is now going to be pushed back a bit, following a few chapters regarding the ship's first major problem. And a bit of Joanna, finally getting some screen time (I ACTUALLY HAVE A CHAPTER WRITTEN IN ADVANCE? WHAAA?). So don't worry, comic relief will be back, following this angst fest of McCoy's and Kirk's and a few meetings.**

Enjoy!

-0-

Chapter 18: Key

McCoy was tired: understatement of the century.

He didn't know why, but every morning since he had gotten on _"this damn ship,"_ as he called it, he had been waking up exactly thirty-two minutes before his alarm. It didn't matter what time he set the evil little contraption for; it always started beeping a half hour after he had already woken up. As a result, chucking the thing out of an airlock was pretty high on McCoy's priority list. The doctor twiddled his thumbs at his desk, contemplating the untimely death of his alarm clock. Oh God, was that an awful pun. Could he really be that exhausted?

But, hey, it wasn't like the annoying little piece of shi – uh, little piece of _shiny metal and plastic_ was actually serving a purpose!

McCoy huffed out a sigh, waiting under the harsh office lights for the end of his shift to come and go. It was the middle of the night and he was covering for Christine who had decided to get a cold not two weeks into the mission. Apparently, the sandman held a grudge over all those power naps McCoy took in college; not only had McCoy woken up right in the middle of a REM cycle for the three days prior, the doctor also had to stay up an extra eight hours on top of the twenty-two (and-a-half) hours he had already been awake. McCoy dreamily pondered how much money it would take to prank the Admiral who decided it would be a great-diddly-dang idea to keep a doctor on duty at all times. (No matter if that rule was practical and McCoy was in full support of it when even half awake).

' _Maybe I could get someone to break into his house and hide alarm clocks in the walls? They could all be set for a different day and time. And all on max volume with the most blaring and siren-y alarm… yeah…_ ' McCoy thought. Just as he was starting to get to the logistics of whom to call to perform the break in and how to pick the alarm sounds and times, there was a knock on his office door. McCoy almost felt like a mad genius, sitting in the bright light, fingers steepled over his PADD. He let himself smirk and vaguely wondered whether he was over tired. _'Nah. I'm fine.'_

"Come in," McCoy rasped. Nothing happened. How long had it been since he had spoken? He tried again, louder, "Come in." There was the faint sound of the door unlocking followed immediately by it sliding open. The captain trudged into the room, disgruntled and disheveled. "Jim," McCoy said, standing from his desk and wobbling forward; how long had his feet been asleep? As Jim inhaled, preparing to speak, McCoy could actually feel himself zone out, eyes zeroing in on a spot in Jim's hair, just above his temple with everything on the edges of McCoy's vision so blurred it might as well have not been there. Shockingly, by the time Jim had stopped talking, McCoy had actually managed to string together a coherent thought, ' _I'm so envious of my feet. How come they get to sleep and I can't?_ '

"Bones!" Jim snapped. "You in there, buddy? Or have we already run into aliens that can take over our minds and make us dance the Macarena whenever they feel like it?" Jim chuckled at his own "wit." McCoy nodded his head agreeably for a second, but froze when it dawned on him that when James T. Kirk starts making sense, it's time to call it quits.

"Yeah, look, Jim, I think I'm going to need to call in another doctor to take over for me. I can barely keep my eyes open here. I didn't hear a word you just said." McCoy started rubbing his face like he was giving a deep tissue massage, trying to make it easier to keep his eyes open. It didn't work; in fact, the only thing it managed was to point a big, flashing sign at his slowly awakening foot. The doctor was busy resigning himself to his fate of prickly cactus foot for the next few minutes when Jim's hands loomed in front of him and clapped.

"Damn, you are asleep aren't you?" The captain had the nerve to look surprised.

"I just told you that!" grumbled McCoy, rubbing his face again. The pins that stabbed his feet turned suddenly from pastel to neon in his mind's eye; he actually had to look down to make sure there weren't actual, tiny, rainbow needles stabbing his left shoe.

"Hey!" Jim exclaimed, clapping in front of McCoy's face again. "Focus! I know you're sleepy; I am, too. But I need you to go to a meeting with me. Like, right now. Spock said Uhura and Scotty are waiting." McCoy's confused silence was all the reply Jim needed. "Yes, seriously."

"But…" McCoy blinked again, trying to focus on his friend's face.

Had his vision always been this blurry? Should he get his eyes checked? Did he need glasses? Was he getting cataracts? Should he get a CAT scan? Was he off topic? He figured that the only question with an affirmative response was the last one. ' _Wait, what? Did I use 'affirmative' right? Hold up. That question should be, 'Did I use 'affirmative' correctly?'_ ' McCoy reviewed the sentence in his head. ' _Yes, I did use 'affirmative' correctly. Oh God, am I getting confused at my own vocabulary now? And grammar? The hell is wrong with me?_ '

In front of him, Jim was coughing and holding a PADD up, with the camera lens turned towards to McCoy. When McCoy finally managed to focus on Jim's face without spacing out, the coughing turned into laughter.

"You're recording this?"

A wordless guffaw and a nod comprised Jim's reply.

"And all that CAT scan and grammar stuff was out loud?"

Jim doubled over, wheezing through his laughter and tried to nod again. He failed.

"You're going to share that video with everyone?"

The captain's eyes were watering and he seemed to actually be slapping his knee.

"Crap," McCoy stated. He wondered if this would be funny to watch or infuriating. ' _Probably both, since Jim's involved._ '

As Jim's laughter began to subside, McCoy realized this was the first time they had had such a relaxed interaction since the Joanna discussion. Jim's eyes widened slightly and he stiffened, jaw muscle jumping. He had clearly just realized the same thing. "So much for relaxed," McCoy muttered; he probably shouldn't have said that, but he was sleepy and his impulse control was null and void when he had less than a certain amount of sleep. Generally that certain amount was a 1:5 ratio; one hour of sleep for every five hours of "functional human being time." Sure, it might not be a healthy amount, but that ship had long since taken off at warp speed. Damn med school, screwing up his sleep cycle.

"Are we okay?" Jim asked suddenly. McCoy shot him the Look. ' _No, Leonard. No, don't you dare…_ ' the reasonable portion of his brain protested. But it was too late.

"I don't know. You were the one with the problem," McCoy replied with forced nonchalance, giving a half hearted shrug. Oh, boy. Ohhh, boy. That was the wrong thing to say… The worst part was it was only half true… He needed sleep… He needed caffeine… He needed his impulse control back!

"Problem?" Jim ground out. Ohhhhh, boy. Here we go. "Well, excuse me, Mr. Let-me-just-ignore-the-fact-that-I-have-a-daughter-and-not-tell-my-best-friend-about-her-and-not-pay-enough-attention-to-her-life-to-notice-she-enlisted-with-an-organization-I-loathe-even-though-I-signed-up-for-it-too-condemning-my-best-friend-to-way-too-much-one-on-one-nagging-and-mother-henning-even-though-I-haven't-been-mother-henning-the-one-person-I'm-supposed-to-be! So, yeah, sure! Mr. Best Friend caused the problem! Totally not you! I'm just sitting over here, minding my own business, not a care in the world and suddenly I'm the bad guy in your screwed up home life!" Jim looked awake and aware. That was not good for McCoy; he could barely out debate Jim on a good day, let alone out argue him on less than two hours of sleep in the last thirty-six hours. "SERIOUSLY!" Jim exploded. Oh no. "How could you be so oblivious that you just DIDN'T NOTICE your daughter enlist AT AGE SIXTEEN!"

"She was an emancipated minor! I had no place in that decision!"

"YOU'RE HER FATHER! YOU SHOULD HAVE AT LEAST BEEN AWARE THAT SHE MADE A DECISION!"

"What makes you think that, huh? Why are you so convinced that she can't handle herself! She- " McCoy was about to play the deaf card and they both knew it. Jim went on the offense.

"Oh, I KNOW she can handle herself! I've seen her record! She's done great, no thanks to you!"

"I wasn't even LEGALLY allowed to see her EXCEPT FOR THREE DAYS A MONTH for SIX YEARS! HOW CAN YOU PIN THIS ONE ON ME?" McCoy shouted.

"Oh, really? Not legally allowed to- yeah, sure, if that makes so much sense then HOW DO YOU EXPLAIN THE FOUR YEARS SINCE THEN? When she was, as you put it, AN EMANCIPATED MINOR! AND THEN A FRIGGIN' ADULT!"

"I WAS IN SPACE, MAYBE YOU REMEMBER! YOU WERE THERE!"

"THERE'S THIS THING CALLED A VIDEO CALL! MAYBE YOU'VE HEARD OF IT!" Jim yelled.

"IT'S NOT THAT SIMPLE!"

"THE HELL IT'S NOT! YOU GO UP TO A COMPUTER, YOU CALL, YOU TALK! WHAT'S SO COMPLICATED?"

"THE TALKING!" McCoy exploded.

"Well, I guess that's what this all comes back to then, huh? Your communication issues."

"I DON'T HAVE COMMUNIC-" McCoy froze. Jim smirked. "I. Do. Not. Have… Communication issues." Jim snorted.

"Yeah. Sure. You can't talk to your parents about your insecurities in your life choices, you marry your wife because she makes you feel like your life has some sort of direction. But you can't talk to your wife, either, 'cause she's a total bi-atch, so you ignore her and focus on your daughter. Your daughter gets sick, loses her hearing; you can't talk to your wife about that or anything else, including your numerous marital problems. You get a divorce. You can't talk to your daughter because of the divorce, and then you don't talk to anyone about that _or_ the divorce, so you start drinking. You can't talk to anyone about your drinking, and your life goes so off track it falls off a cliff. You can't talk to anyone about your life falling off a cliff, you join Starfleet. And then. Miracle of miracles, you start talking to me. Your friend. I might even say your best friend. You tell me about most of this, about you and about your life. I tell you about my life and everything I've lived through. And the whole time, I never realized what a good liar you are. It's like a sad, sad 'If You Give a Mouse a Cookie!' Which all circles back to you being unable to talk things throu-"

"SHUT THE HELL UP, JIM!"

"WHY? SO YOU KEEP YOUR HEAD IN THE SAND? LOOK HOW THAT'S WORKED OUT! YOU'VE RUN AWAY FROM THIS FOR TOO LONG! FACE ME! TALK TO ME! TALK TO HER!"

"WHY ARE YOU SO HUNG UP ON THIS!"

"BECAUSE YOU WEREN'T THERE FOR HER!" Jim bellowed.

Silence. McCoy didn't speak.

"You weren't there… when you could have been," Jim sighed.

Silence.

"I didn't have anyone," Jim continued, "And then Pike showed up. You showed up. I had friends, people to look after me, actually care. Do you know how long… How long… For years. The only thing I wanted was a person who cared if I was still there the next day. When someone isn't there for you, if someone isn't around to tell you, it's hard to believe that they really care."

McCoy choked on his own words, his only replies. They would be lies. They would be lies that, for the longest time, McCoy had told the world he believed. _She has to know I love her. I've done everything I can to get more visits. I'm not allowed to go see her and have to follow the rules or I'll lose her_. He never believed any of it, not for a second. They might be true for some people, but not for him. He knew if he fought long enough he would have won something, anything, from Rachel. But he just couldn't fight anymore.

He hadn't given up, though. Not really. He had just defeated himself with a little help from the rest of the world.

Jim spoke up again.

"I've been wondering if you know how guilty I feel that you were there for _me_ while you weren't there for her. Because I've been on her end, Bones. I've had parents and family leave me in the dust just because I wasn't convenient and something else happened that suited them better. Maybe it wasn't their fault, maybe there were some things that couldn't be changed, but I still have a little bit… just a little bit of resentment that they weren't there when they should have been. Sometimes, when they could have been." Jim's brow furrowed, remembering something he probably didn't want to. "I imagine that there are two things Joanna wants right about now. All she wants is to see you again. And all she wants is to _never_ see you again. I know that's how I felt. When you told me about her and filled in all the holes in your story… I don't know. I just think I understand her side more than yours. That's why…" Jim trailed off.

"That's why we have a problem," McCoy finished. He swayed and put a hand on his desk. He was exhausted.

 **-0-**

 **Woo. Well, that was enlightening. I'm so glad I worked backwards and wrote this; it's a good chapter to get back into writing for this story.**

Okay, I have a quick question if you're still reading.

A few weeks ago I got a review on this story that mentioned "very mixed feelings" toward Joanna that consisted of "mostly intense hatred." I loved this review (courtesy of WildChild13) because I find it... fascinating. I find it fascinating that a character that has only kind-of sort-of physically shown up in the story ONCE for a grand total maybe two seconds can actually inspire a response like that. May I ask what the general public's opinion of her is thus far? Whether it's good, bad, or meh, it doesn't matter what the opinion actually is. I'm just curious how she's come across, since I haven't really had a goal with my description of her. And by that I mean, I'm not trying to put a slant on her character, I'm just trying to give as unbiased a description as I can while still writing from the point of view of that chapter's main character. So how's she doing?


	19. Chapter 19: Congregation

I would like to take this time to acknowledge the passing of Anton Yelchin. He will be much missed and was an amazing Chekov. For those of you who don't know, before the scrolling credits of Beyond, there are two cards, honoring both Anton and Leonard Nimoy. I'm just letting anyone reading this know for sure, in case they wanted to stay like I did.

-0-

 **Now, though, the show must go on. I am returning to finish this story. It may take a while, but hopefully you'll stick with me until the finale.**

-0-

Chapter 19: Congregation

Nyota closed her eyes and put on her headphones, tapping the screen of her PADD as she did so. The volume increased, and the music soon enveloped the noise that surrounded her. As rooms went, it was actually pretty quiet. It was just her and an unnerved Spock sitting at the table, with Scotty up and pacing in the corner. She would say his pace was vigorous, if one could pace vigorously in such a confined space. His speed varied and his head whipped side to side at the slightest sound, even if it was only Spock's uniform rustling when he shifted in unease. Despite how muffled the sounds might seem to anyone else, the whispering fabric and staccato footsteps stabbed at her ears; whenever she was nervous or upset her hearing always seemed to improve, but maybe she was only hyper aware of what she could already hear.

Regardless, the rustling, pacing, and throat clearing were all a bit much for her. She let the music overpower the noise and drown it out; the gentle tune wasn't quite loud enough to deafen her, but it did seem to send a thrum through her head every now and again. Anyone else would say it was too quiet, though, which Nyota found laughable. How much did everyone miss, oblivious to the sounds around them?

Spock cleared his throat and let his hand drop from his chin to the edge of the table. Nyota jerked against the noise, unexpectedly loud through her music and headphones. Her PADD slid to the edge of the table, following the cord that attached it to the speakers over her ears. Sure, most people used wireless headsets, but why fix what wasn't broken? The PADD took a header off the table and Nyota caught it with one hand.

' _Then again_ ,' she kept her eyes fixed on the PADD and not on the two other people in the room who she knew were looking at her, ' _maybe they have a point with that cordless thing._ ' She set the PADD back on the table, switching to the next song and tapping to increase the volume, leaning back in her chair. Her head back and her eyes closed, she put her entire concentration to listening to that song and nothing else. This one was considerably more… active than the first. It was just as soothing though, if only because of nostalgia. Both were on the soundtrack from an old videogame that a friend of hers in school had played. Nyota had always loved the music and probably always would; it was her go-to, one of her first responses to stress and over stimulus. These were songs she knew as well as her mother's voice; there were no surprises and she knew exactly what to listen for and concentrate on. She let herself slip into the music.

A few minutes later, the table shook.

Nyota did not open her eyes or allow herself to hear the reason the table had been moved. She would leave the music at her own pace, and most certainly not listen to anyone else in the process. It was another few seconds before she opened her eyes.

"Hello," Kirk grumbled, almost glaring at her from across the table.

' _Scheisse_ ,' she thought. Kirk was back to the grumbles, and it didn't take her long to figure out why. Leonard swayed into the room almost immediately, tripping on the threshold where the floor transitioned to carpet from the smooth covering in the hallways. Now that she thought about it, she actually had no idea what the floor in the hallways was made of. Odd.

Leonard fell into a chair two over from Kirk and dropped his head onto the table. The doctor looked like he had invisible strings with equally invisible weights attached to all his limbs, pulling him down to the floor. Now that he was sitting, he no longer looked off balance; he looked dead. The only thing that contradicted that was the low, droning whine Nyota heard coming from his throat.

"Let's get this over with," Leonard mumbled to the table, lifting his arm and letting it flop over his head, trying to block out the light of the meeting room.

"We are still waiting for-" Spock began, but was cut off as Hikaru and Pavel trouped into the room. Both appeared sleepy, and Hikaru hadn't even bothered to change, still in rumpled Starfleet standard issue sweatpants and shirt.

"Speak of the devil! Glad to see ya, laddies; let's get started," Scotty exclaimed, leaping at his chair. The room was filled with the sounds of shuffling feet and shifting clothes, and everyone situated themselves. As Pavel moved toward his seat he looked to the captain who was dividing his glare equally between Uhura and McCoy.

"What… is the… emergency?" Pavel asked around a yawn, knuckling the corner of his right eye. With his left he raised his eyebrow and stared at Scotty, jerking his head towards Kirk. Scotty just shook his head slightly, collar whispering as he moved. Obviously they didn't know about Kirk and McCoy's little discussion a few days ago. And what she assumed they continued a few minutes ago.

"Actually…" Uhura started, figuring it was about time to get down to business. All eyes went to her. "We're still trying to figure it all out."

"Please don't tell me I'm still awake for nothing," McCoy requested through a heavy jaw, his eyes half lidded and dead behind the irises. He picked himself up off the table in order to make his dead eyed look more effective.

"Not for nothing, but Leonard…" Nyota said, before catching Jim's eye and saw him frantically shake his head no. Okay. That's fine. Don't poke the bear now that he's mostly settled and just complaining like usual. He might not have an exact purpose in being there, but at least they wouldn't have to catch him up to speed later. Assuming he stayed awake the whole time. "Never mind. You're fine. Okay. To start, I should explain the systems used in communications, since I'm not sure how much all of you are familiar with. When it comes to receiving messages, the first thing any transmission hits is the ELCA, the External Long-distance Communications Array. There are actually multiple ELCA's scattered across the outside of the ship, in order to pick up a larger variety signals, even if they're not sent on a subspace frequency. The wide spacing allows us to pick up electromagnetic waves with long wavelengths such as low frequency radio waves... But I guess that's kind of irrelevant information right now." Everyone appeared slightly peeved at that comment. Even Spock. "Um, anyway, when a transmission hits the receiver on any of those ELCA, it's just a signal, just a frequency. There is no decipherable message. All the ELCAs do are send and receive raw signals. They can pick up on almost anything."

"Can we get to the relevant part now?" Leonard grumbled into the table. At some point he had slumped back over and put his head in his arms again. Nyota spared him a cursory glare before continuing.

"After an ELCA receives a transmission, it sends it to the ILCA, the-"

"Internal Long-distance Communications Array. Yeah. We got it," Hikaru griped.

"You're mean when you're tired, you know that?" Nyota asked, shifting in her seat to try and look taller.

"Yes." Hikaru just stared at her from next to Jim, leaning on the table with one arm. Unable to think of a reply, Nyota continued as if the interruption had never occurred.

"The ILCA takes the transmission and channels it to the proper recipient. One of the ways it does this is by recognizing which are Starfleet transmissions and which are transmissions from Federation planets or vessels, as well as enemy or unidentified vessel transmissions. Within the Starfleet and Federation transmissions, it also distinguishes between personal transmissions and transmissions intended for command officers to see. Any unknown or unidentified frequencies are automatically sent to communications to decipher. A signal from the bridge can reroute this data to wherever the bridge decides it needs to go, including personal PADDs or specific terminals. However, one thing common to all data the ICLA sends is that it is supposed to go through the main computer in order to reach its destination. This is both for log keeping purposes, as well as practicality purposes, as Starfleet transmissions are coded and need to be deciphered. Since we have the cipher, this can be done automatically, without sending the signal to communications." Nyota paused, hoping at least half of that information had been absorbed by everyone.

"I heard a 'supposed to' in there. Why is there a 'supposed to' and not a 'does'?" Kirk asked, looking less annoyed and more concerned.

"That's where I come in, Captain," Scotty said, scooting forward slightly. "I was walking through the Engineering decks tonight, as you do when there's nothing else going on, when all of a sudden I tripped over a ferret! Couldn't see which one it was. Scurried off before I could tell."

"Hate those damn things," Kirk muttered, probably thinking he was being subtle.

"Anyway, as I was picking meself off the ground I saw something outta the corner of my eye that I thought ought not be the way it was. The paneling on the side of the ILCA was slightly off. Now, this is a pretty stable piece of equipment; it has to be! It's necessary for all communications leaving the ship and coming off the ship! Now, you see, that's one of the reasons it doesn't have a direct control panel. For one thing, it doesn't require much fiddling with. For another, it shouldn't be fiddled with in the first place. Now, because it doesn't have a direct control panel, the only way to access any of the internal components without bridge authorization is to take the thing apart and plug the main router chip – which is not a router by the way, routers aren't chips; the chip just contains the orders on how and where to deliver messages – directly into a terminal. From there you break through about fifty layers of security and then change the routing information. I'm saying this because Nyota and I think that's exactly what happened. The main router chip was out of place when I looked inside the ILCA. We need everyone to figure it out for sure."

"Aye, sir. What do you want us to help with?" Pavel, now awake and alert, was practically vibrating in his seat. Nyota could see the flickering ideas and possibilities in his eyes. He loved this sort of puzzle.

"What was changed? When was it changed? Who changed it? And, why was it changed? Figured out in that order, as soon as possible. This may turn out to be something small, but in all honesty, I doubt it." Nyota replied.

The next hour was filled with much arguing, dashing back and forth between the terminals at the end of the room and the PADDS on the table, background snoring courtesy of Leonard, and too much replicated coffee. But at minute 67 (exact time courtesy of Spock), they came up with a workable conclusion.

"Okay, to sum up and make sure we're still on the same page… and fully awake," Scotty paused, staring directly at Leonard whose head still rested on the table, a pool of drool had formed below the corner of his mouth. Rather unfortunately, Leonard was far too unconscious to notice the irony, so Scotty huffed and continued, "We finally came up with a reasonable idea of what happened. At 0100 hundred hours this evening, the security footage of all areas surrounding the ILCA began to noticeably loop a minute of footage. This minute was evidently thought to be of complete inactivity by the perpetrator, however Enter the Ferret was actually in the frame for a few seconds in the corner. Good eye, Hikaru." The pilot nodded toward Scotty in acknowledgement. "During this time no one was seen entering or leaving the area, implying they must have approached by Jeffries tube, though no records show any accesses being opened in that time frame. Long story short we don't know who it was, since when I scanned for fingerprints at the seen there were none."

"Bummer about that. It was a good idea though," Kirk said, evidently trying to console Scotty. Nyota rolled her eyes. Now was not the time.

"Regardless, a thorough remote examination of the main router chip, authorized by Mr. James T., allowed us to find that the range or frequencies that are considered Starfleet frequencies, and therefore not considered foreign or sent anywhere but their coded destination, has been expanded beyond the necessary parameters. Additionally, just as Nyota suspected, these additional frequencies are no longer routed through the main computer for deciphering, and instead are directly sent to an unknown receiver somewhere aboard the ship. How anyone got something like that on here without getting caught is a mystery, since all technology is examined before it's allowed on board and all personal communication devices are prohibited bar none. Unfortunately, whatever is sent along the known frequency on the outside, is passed along remotely on an unknown and currently inactive frequency within the ship. Since there's no information being sent, we can't track it. And we don't want to send out own message to the ELCA on the frequency we know they use, since we don't know what code they are using to communicate and if we let them know that we know, then they could find a way to cover their tracks even more completely before we find them." Scotty paused, reviewing his final sentence, seemingly confused.

"That was a ridiculously convoluted sentence, but I think we're going to have to take risks here. I don't see any way around it. Whoever did this clearly had the technical knowhow of a genius, but we're on a ship of geniuses. In order to find who ever sabotaged the ILCA we're going to have to let them know we've found about their little trick in order to track the signal," Kirk groused.

"Not necessarily, Captain. If we are just patient, all we have to do is wait for an external party privy to the plan tries to communicate with our internal saboteurs. Clearly whoever rerouted those frequencies wishes to communicate with someone outside the ship undetected. All we have to do is wait for them to make the first move," Spock informed them.

"Oh, yeah, sure. We just wait," Kirk looked Spock straight in the eye. "And what happens if that external person decides to send a message like, oh, I don't know, blow up the damn ship?"

"There are risks to either plan. I'm simply suggesting one that would allow us more time to prepare."

"Or, you're suggesting a plan that could catch us off guard at any time. I want to find this person on my own terms, with only one unknown variable."

"I'm with Spock," Nyota finally spoke up. "If we act first, then we run the risk of never learning who the outside contact is, which could put other ships or Starfleet at risk. We should report this to a single Admiral so someone knows what's going on, and then set up an action plan for whenever this frequency and receiver are used."

After she finished talking the air in the room was dead, everyone's eyes flickering between Spock, Kirk, and Nyota. After a moment of silence, Leonard muttered at the table top, "Course you're with Spock. We all already knew that…" before readjusting his head and closing his eyes again. She reached over and swatted at his hair and Leonard glared at her through sleep crusted eyes. Scotty cleared his throat.

"If I may," he started, glancing at Kirk. The captain gave a confused nod and Scotty continued, "Though the final decision is of course dependent on the captain's wishes, I recommend we take a vote, just to figure out where everyone stands." He glanced around the room, where everyone was shifting awkwardly, glancing from their neighbors to Scotty and back again.

"Alright. Anyone with any other plans, now's the time," Kirk proclaimed, standing up. He looked directly over to Pavel who jumped an inch off his seat at the attention. The navigator shook his head hurriedly, in shock at the expectation that he should come up with a plan. Nyota found that rather odd, as Pavel usually had some off the wall idea to try, even if it wouldn't turn out to be one hundred percent effective. Raising his eyebrows in surprise, Kirk continued. "All in favor of immediate action, raise your hand."

Hikaru raised his hand and glanced around the room, looking for support. The only person he found in agreement was Kirk, whose hand had shot up above his head.

"Oh come on, guys!" Kirk protested. "Alright, all those in favor of establishing an action plan and waiting them out?"

Nyota raised her hand, head held high; Spock mirrored her movements almost perfectly. Next to Nyota, Scotty tentatively put his hand in the air, Pavel following soon after. Leonard, head still on the table top, lugged his arm into the air.

"I," he mummbled, unnecessarily.

"You're too tired to get a vote," Kirk snapped at him.

"You're the one who made me come here. I don't know anything about this crap… G'night…" Leonard trailed off, eyes flickering closed again.

"I think it's clear where the majority's opinion lays, Jim. Even without Doctor McCoy's vote, your plan still only has one supporter, other than yourself," Spock recounted, pointedly ignoring Hikaru's glare from across the table. Kirk heaved a sigh and fell back into his chair.

"Alright," Kirk said. "What's the action plan you had in mind, Lieutenant? This isn't a guarantee that we'll use it… but what you got?"

Nyota cracked a smile. This was where things got interesting.

-0-

 **On a much less somber note than the beginning author's note, I wish to mention a few details. For one thing, Beyond punched a "Hikaru has an established family" size hole in my plot. For the sake of the plot, we will continue to operate in an AU where they don't exist (Unfortunately. Because they're adorable. And his daughter is precious.). That being said, for those of you who wish to go back and reread Chapter 16: Riveted, I did change what I could to go along with cannon. For those of you who do not want to go back and reread Riveted, Katrina is now Kater. Yes, I know that's the German word for a male cat, but it started with the same three letters and I didn't want to change his nick name. I will change pronouns. Nicknames are non optional**


	20. Chapter 20: Hush

**Guess who we finally get to meet?**

 **And, hey! We hit the 50,000 word mark in the last chapter! Yay!**

-0-

Chapter 20: Hush

It was a few day after that meeting McCoy had mostly slept through.

Joanna walked into Med Bay.

McCoy had to do a double take.

Joanna _walked into Med Bay._ Under her own power. Not being dragged or pushed or forced. What was the world coming to?

McCoy had been walking out of his office when, on the opposite side of the room, the doors slid open. McCoy was going to ignore them and just start his rant about Frost's crap filing, when he saw who had stepped though. It was a young woman. She had brown, curly hair and a painfully familiar face. McCoy had stopped dead when their eyes met, and his entire body had frozen… except for his eyes which he blinked several times, unable to believe them. Though he was unprepared, Joanna wasn't; she had had time to think this through and hadn't stopped walking. She strode right up to the first open biobed and leapt up to sit with strained poise, feet dangling like a child's. Nurse Frost, pacing in the corner of the room, started slightly and turned to watch McCoy's daughter, who was now staring straight across the room to the opposite wall, where a monitor sat dormant. Joanna's back was rigid and her fists were clenched so tightly they shook.

Frost moved forward, almost shouting to ask if Joanna needed any help. In McCoy's humble opinion, the tone Frost used was a bit too short and a bit too chopped, but then again, he was southern. Maybe the tone that meant 'Bless your heart,' in Atlanta was actually polite up north. Unlikely, but to avoid going even farther off the handle than he had already planned, he decided to push Frost's numerable vices to the side.

McCoy waved off the nurse. He had to do this.

He walked forward as Frost backed away to a safe distance. The tension was palpable.

McCoy planted his feet directly in front of the biobed. Joanna still managed to ignore him; it was almost impressive how well she brushed off his presence, even when she was staring through his chest. They remained locked like that for about two minutes and then both of them began to slip. He started to fidget, pulling on his sleeve and clenching his jaw; her posture seemed to fall into a default of forced nonchalance. She sat - well, she was actually more sprawled - on the biobed in perfect silence. Sure, she was still technically sitting, but she had the awful slouched posture that McCoy had always associated with James T. Kirk trying to pretend he didn't do anything wrong, even though there was a city block and a half in flames just behind him.

McCoy had just started to note all of the similarities in Jim's and Joanna'a posture when in a split second Joey's eyes flicked up to his face. He was prepared for the eye contact this time, and took up the old posture, the one he used when Joey had gotten herself into trouble… again. Arms crossed over his chest, he made himself as tall and wide as possible. He did not say anything or sign anything. She did not sign or type on the PADD at her side. They just stared at each other, stance versus sprawl. In the periphery of his vision, McCoy noticed Frost shifting from foot to foot, so clearly confused and uncomfortable he almost cringed from second hand embarrassment. After a few more seconds of silence, she sidled toward the exit and then dashed out of the room. When the door shut and McCoy and his daughter were finally alone, Joey's eyes left his and she cracked a smile at the ground. It was brief, the merest flash of a grin, and then she was holding out her right wrist (sprained) and McCoy was examining it, wrapping it, and signing that she could not use it for three days.

She pouted.

He smiled.

He didn't see her again for two weeks.

The next time, it was when she came back into Med Bay. She only needed a bandage, and a small one at that. It was something she could have gone to the smaller clinic for; it was something she could have asked a nurse for. But, no. She sat in an uncomfortable plastic chair for twenty minutes to see a doctor who was very busy, thank you very much. He hadn't known she was there; he had been setting and regenerating a broken bone on the unfortunate victim of an Engineering incident. He had walked back to his office and locked the door when he heard a small _tap-tap-tap_. It wasn't loud enough for him to be concerned, so he ignored it. Then there were some louder taps. He looked up, but before he could do anything, the door to his office opened to reveal a startled Joey and a smirking Chapel. This time it was Joey who was frozen and who stood in the door to his office.

(All right, so they were _both_ frozen)

Chapel gave Joey a small push and McCoy's daughter stumbled into the room. When Joey spun to glare at Chapel, the doctor shut the door, leaving the CMO and his daughter alone. Joey took two steps forward, shyly sliding the final foot up to the desk, and proffered her left arm this time. There were a few parallel scratches. They didn't look too deep and they weren't bleeding badly at all; McCoy figured that she must be one of the few on board the damn ferrets didn't like. Unfortunately, smelly things actually seemed to _enjoy_ McCoy's presence.

McCoy dug around in his desk and pulled out a bandage and an antiseptic wipe. Joey reached out for them, but McCoy held out his empty hand, gesturing slightly for his daughter to let him see the scratched arm. She did so and he cleaned it and wrapped it, gently clipping the bandage in place before giving it a pat. She smiled softly and moved to leave, but before she had even managed to go a step, McCoy had plunged his hand into his desk drawer and brought out a lollipop, tossing it to her. Mostly he kept them in there for emergencies or when Jim had to be coaxed in for physicals.

Joey's was grape, which had been her favorite flavor way back when. Judging by the way she tore off the wrapper and stuffed it in her mouth, it still was. Now she gave him a bright smile, teeth and all, around the stick of the lollipop. After she turned to go, McCoy laughed until couldn't breathe; her teeth had almost instantly turned purple. After she left, Chapel came in to tell him how long Joey had been waiting, and he wondered if he should keep an eye out for her in the future.

He still had to wait ten days to see her again.

She strode into Med Bay, bold as brass, holding a wooden box and two mugs. The nurses moved out of her way; they knew where she was heading. Gossip travels faster than warp speed, after all. McCoy had been standing by the door of his office, observing his domain, when Joey headed straight for him. McCoy opened the door and walked over to the replicator, replicated a pot of water, and put it on the hot plate he kept in the bottom drawer of his desk. He knew exactly what was in the box.

She walked in after him and placed the brown container on his desk, sliding the lid off. Six different kinds of teas were arranged in neat squares, and the mingled aroma of spices and herbs filled the air.

They spent a quiet half an hour sipping tea and staring the floor, walls, and odd discoloration on McCoy's ceiling. Then she left and McCoy got on with his work.

She came by at the same time the next week, this time with a PADD and without the tea box he had given her years ago.

He replicated a cup of black tea for both of them, Joey's with a bit of orange peel in it, and they sat there. He did paperwork on his PADD and from where he was sitting it seemed Joey was doing some odd calculations. It looked like she was simulating a theoretical system with seven stars and one planet. At least, he assumed it was theoretical. He had never heard one like that. Seemed impossible, actually. After a half an hour, both of them had finished their tea and Joey rose to leave.

"I love you," McCoy murmured, though he couldn't remember commanding his mouth to form the words.

Joey had already turned her back and was leaving the room; she couldn't see his lips move.

They repeated that pattern for weeks and then months. No one talked about it. No one brought it up. Not even Jim, even though he clearly knew. Joey would come. McCoy and his daughter would have tea and work on their respective projects. And then she would leave. Every once and while, while Joey's back was turned or her head was down, McCoy would tell his daughter he loved her, even though he knew she couldn't hear.

His "I love you," were the only words sacrificed to the empty air between them. They never spoke or signed or typed. But that was okay. When there were fights between crew members and people got injured, they were both on edge; McCoy could tell because Joey had picked up his habit of pulling on sleeve edges and shirt hems. But when they sat in perfect solitude they could forget those problems and just enjoy each other's presence.

And then… Lucile Barrowman died during surgery. Medical science had advanced so far that people sometimes forgot that could happen. McCoy had been the one to give the news to her friends, since Jim had been laid up by the same fool away mission. It was one of the ones that had gone more south than Argentina, and Lucile had died because of it. McCoy had almost lost Jim, too.

The doctor was exhausted.

McCoy had wandered around the crew quarters' decks for a while, after he had given the news to Lucy's friends. He had sent them to the Med Bay clinic to talk to Miranda Hopper, the ship's resident psychologist and therapist. And then McCoy had caught sight of Joey's door; she had decorated the black sign next to it with white paint pens and blue glitter.

Though he didn't remember walking toward it, he was suddenly in front of the door, pressing the small button below the name sign. The button had 'Press' written on it in tiny, crooked black letters. Below it was a small note taped to the wall that said, 'It's basically a doorbell, but not a bell' and had an arrow in blue swooping up to point at the button. Joey was smiling when she opened the door, but froze as soon as she saw him. She stepped to the side to let him in, immediately dashing to grab her PADD where she furiously typed something. When she finished, she placed the PADD screen-down on her desk before looking up at him, a question in her eyes. He could only smile sadly before breaking down.

As Joey hugged him, he could only wonder if she knew why this death affected him so much. It seemed so selfish, the reason why. Lucy was twenty, had brown hair, and was just as short as Joanna. Maybe Lucy's hair wasn't curly and her eyes were brown instead of grey. But, McCoy could still only see Joey when the security team had brought Lucy in, stumbling and tripping over her own feet, eyes glazed, holding her hand to a gaping hole in her side. Everyone in the room had known she wouldn't make it, but McCoy had thrown himself into saving her.

He didn't.

So there he was, crying into his daughter's hair and holding her like she was five again. He never wanted to let go, but he had to, eventually. He stumbled back to his own room and collapsed into bed without locking the door. When he woke up, there was a wooden box sitting on his desk. He brought it back to Joey's room and they had tea, sipping it silently in her still quarters. From then on it alternated; one week they would have tea in his office, the next in her room.

One day McCoy walked into Joanna's room with tea filled mugs, same time as usual. He sat on the bed and she sat at her desk; they pulled out their respective projects and began to work. Desperately trying to navigate the Med Bay system to find the files he needed, he crouched over the PADD on his lap and jabbed at the screen. Frost seemed to be putting in extra hours solely to screw up McCoy's filing. None of the files he was looking for were in the right place, nor did they have the correct names. After a few minutes of sitting in silence glaring at the screen, he heard a low growl coming from the direction of Joanna's desk and glanced up to see her absolutely livid. It was an expression he knew all too well from her younger days.

When Joanna was three he had shown her how to fold paper starships. She, being a toddler at the time, had naturally destroyed all of the pieces of paper he put in front of her. Age did not do much for her paper starship folding skills, and by the time she was nine McCoy had given up on her. Once though, just when he thought she'd given up on herself, too, he saw her out of the corner of his eye. Her face had been screwed up in a concentrated grimace, just like it was now, and she hunched over the decimated paper squares; it was a last ditch effort and she failed. (McCoy was sure that to this day Joanna still couldn't properly fold a paper starship.)

But that look on her face, that look of utter concentration and focus – mixed with a healthy amount of frustration – that was the look he recognized. The half smile on his face was so comfortable to wear, again; he had forgotten what it was like to watch her when she was that absorbed in a project.

In one swift movement, though, it was gone. And so was she, as a matter of fact. Joanna leapt from her chair and then whizzed around the room, tearing things out of drawers so fast that McCoy couldn't even see what they were. By the time the whirlwind had settled, the room was back to normal except for a substantial pile of art and office supplies that littered the middle of the room.

McCoy had seen many sides of his daughter over the years.

Pride. Excitement. Devastation. Joy. Disappointment. Focus. Trepidation. Contentment.

This was not any of those things.

And it was _weird_.

In a flash, Whirlwind Joanna returned to wreak havoc. Note cards and sticky notes were tossed from side to side, pencils and pens and markers all flung about; every once and a while glitter of blue and white sprung from an unknown location, dowsing everything in the vicinity with shiny granules of the crap. It took a half hour, during which time McCoy didn't finish a single page of paperwork, regardless of how hard he tried. Both cups of tea sat abandoned and cold.

The result of Joanna's insanity was a very ugly poster board. McCoy had no idea where she kept the poster board, since there was no where large enough to store it that it wouldn't be immediately visible; he also had no idea when Joanna had retrieved the poster board, because despite his best efforts, he had not been able to track all of his daughter's frantic movements. Still though, there it was, the ugliest art project he'd ever seen, laying in the middle of the room.

It was dripping in sticky notes, tape, and note cards, all seemingly arranged in a… flowchart? Spider web? Drunken spider web? The last seemed the most likely, but Joanna's handwriting was even worse than his, so it was hard to tell. She looked up at him for a moment, smiling. With teeth, no less! Just then, he thought about asking what it was she had accomplished that made her so happy. But, in a fraction of a second, it was gone and she was snagging her PADD from the desk, typing furiously. Joanna glanced at her hideous project (mind map?) occasionally, but other than that she completely ignored the world around her. McCoy left five minutes later, leaving her to her business.

He supposed they both knew they needed to talk, but they were also stubborn. Joey didn't lift a finger to sign and neither did McCoy. He didn't try to message her. He didn't try to make her read his lips.

He would still say "I love you," but never when she could see.

-0-

 **Hope you enjoyed it, and I'll see you next week. You know. Hopefully. I have buffer chapters now, so that's good.**

 **Those of you who have been with this story for a few months will probably recognize the next chapter. :)**


	21. Chapter 21: Broadcast

**I told you it wasn't gone for good! Back by popular demand (and as a totally necessary line break in the story) is Broadcast, originally chapter 18 before the edit!**

 **For context I have inserted the timing of the previous four chapters.**

-0-

Chapter 21: Broadcast

Ship-wide Broadcast 7:

Good morning, Enterprise. This is your captain speaking. Despite the fact that we are only seven days underway, Starfleet has seen fit to change our orders and is having us make an unscheduled stop at Starbase 098 at 0700 hours tomorrow. You may check with your commanding officer to request to disembark for the duration of our stop, but we will only be there for three hours, so keep a close eye on the clock.

Ship-wide Broadcast 9:

Afternoon. This is Captain Kirk speaking. As a reminder, Starfleet regulations prohibit animals aboard all vessels except under the following circumstances: it is a service animal; the vessel has been ordered to transport livestock; the animal is an invasive species from another planet and had to be removed from the host planet to ensure the balance of the host planet's natural ecosystem – jeez that's a mouthful – uh; it is a therapy animal confined to Med Bay or an approved area of the ship; or, a crew member has filed the appropriate paperwork to keep the animal on board.

Now, I'm not saying anyone has an unapproved animal on board. I'm not. I have not seen any evidence of this, and therefore will not take any action. Because there's no reason to take action. Because there totally isn't a ferret on board. But, I just thought I should mention – for future reference – that these are the ONLY circumstances where animals are allowed on board a Federation Starship.

Thank you for your time.

Ship-wide Broadcast: 10:

Evening. We'll be making an unscheduled pit stop at Starbase 099. We'll only be there for an hour. But, if anyone has anything they picked up from Starbase 098 – say, a ferret, perhaps – that they want to get rid of – er, drop off – that would be the time to do it.

Ship-wide Broadcast 11:

Captain Kirk speaking. We've reached Starbase 099. Now or never, people.

Ship-wide Broadcast 12:

You know in school where one kid was really loud and obnoxious and ruined recess for everyone else? I was that kid. Everyone hated me. Do not be that kid. Get rid of the ferret.

Ship-wide Broadcast 13:

Thirty minutes left. That's all I'm saying.

Ship-wide Broadcast 14:

Okay. We're leaving Starbase 099 in ten minutes. If there is still a Goddamn ferret on board this ship by then, I will throw it out of an airlock.

Ship-wide Broadcast 15:

-IF I SEE THAT THING ONE MORE TIME I SWEAR TO- Oh. Oops. Damn it, Uhura! Anyway. Hello, crew of the Enterprise. This is your captain speaking. I'm just letting everyone know that the person who catches the ferret will receive an immediate promotion.

Ship-wide Broadcast 16:

Commander Spock says I can't do that. Fine, then. The person who catches the- WHAT DO YOU MEAN THERE ARE TWO OF THEM?

Ship-wide Broadcast 19:

Catch. Those. Friggin'. Ferrets. That is all.

Ship-wide Broadcast 23:

Attention, crew of the Enterprise, this is Captain Kirk speaking….

Fine. Fine. I give up. There are no ferrets on this Starship. There is not a black ferret, and it is certainly not named Enter. There is not a brown ferret, and it is certainly not named Prize. And under no circumstances are these non-existent ferrets the ship's new mascots. On an unrelated topic, all crew members with allergies to ferrets or pet dander are hereby ordered to report to Med Bay for allergy shots for absolutely no reason whatsoever. Nope. No real reason. Just feel like making that an order.

Uh, Kirk out.

0

 _(Chapters 17-19 here, and Chapter 20 starts)_

 _0_

Ship-wide Broadcast 52:

Attention, Enterprise, this is Captain Kirk… I never – not once in a year of planning for this mission! – expected this. And I have to say I am profoundly disappointed. Earlier this evening, there was an… altercation… between three crew members on deck eight. This resulted in several injuries not only for those involved in the confrontation, but a bystander as well. All of them were required to go to Med Bay for treatment. Though they have been asked several times, the crew members involved refuse to answer as to why the fight began. I would ask that, should you be privy to any information regarding this event, to come forward immediately.

If I find out that any crew member is withholding information about this incident, I will turn him or her over to suffer the wrath of Doctor McCoy. You can understand why this was particularly upsetting for him. I believe he said, I quote, "I'm here to make sure ya'll don't get killed by some weird space-" uh, never mind, I'll paraphrase, "space bull-crap. Why do you have to go and make my job harder by trying to kill each other?" I will say, he was exaggerating somewhat. It is clear from the resultant injuries that the crew members involved were trying to injure, not kill.

Ship-wide Broadcast 55:

Attention, Enterprise, this is your captain speaking. It should be clear to me by now that no one is going to come forward with information about the fight a few days ago. I'm sure you all remember my broadcast on that particular subject. I will by closing the incident report in a few hours. If anyone has anything to say, please come forward.

0

Ship-wide Broadcast 74:

Okay, people. Captain Kirk here. We have a problem. It's called 'the injury count.' As of this moment we have not yet sent any crew members off the Enterprise onto an unknown, unexplored, or in-distress planet. And yet, we have an incredible number of injuries. To date the injuries include, but are not limited to: 41 strains or various kinds, 32 sprains of various kinds, 27 broken toes, 20 broken fingers, 15 cracked ribs, 7 concussions, 3 dislocated shoulders, and 1 incident with a trampoline that I didn't even know we had until I found out about the injury. I won't describe the last one since I know a few people have weak stomachs when it comes to injuries. I have a comment on that, but, out of respect for my crew, I won't say it. When I'm listing the injury count, it shouldn't sound like I'm signing the twelve Days of Christmas. Basically, what I'm trying to say is that you people need to be more careful, or you're going to give Doctor McCoy and myself an ulcer. I know you might not care about him, but come on? Me? I'm worth a little extra caution, right?

0

Ship-wide Broadcast 113:

Enterprise. Pay attention. There was another fight. As you can tell by my tone – if you can't, you should go get your ears checked – I am not happy. I am royally pissed off. Same spiel as last time, the people involved won't talk, so anyone with info, please come forward. Now please excuse me while I go punch a Klingon. Or a ferret.

Kirk out.

0

Ship-wide Broadcast 122:

The away mission starts in two minutes. Sulu you get your ass to the transporter room now. I swear to god if you are canoodling with that new boyfriend of yours I am gonna- Oh, there you are. Wait, NO! I'M SORRY! I DIDN'T MEAN TO-

0

 _(End chapter 20)_

 _0_

Ship-wide Broadcast 142:

Attention, Enterprise, this is Doctor McCoy. If I may have a moment of your time. IF I CATCH THE LOW DOWN SCUM BAG THAT DECIDED IT WOULD BE OH-SO-FUNNY TOO SCREW UP THE CONTROL PANEL IN MEDBAY I SWEAR TO-

SPOCK, SPOCK, NO! I'M TRYING TO GET A POINT ACRO-

Ship-wide Broadcast 143:

Attention, crew of the Enterprise, this is Acting Captain Spock speaking. Doctor McCoy apologizes for the interruption-

 _No, I don't!_

-and wants you to be aware of a situation that occurred in Med Bay three hours and thirty-two minutes ago.

 _You coulda just said three and a half hours._

As many of you are aware, the last away mission began four hours and five minutes ago. The captain decided to participate and joined the landing party. Twenty-seven minutes later-

 _Everyone else in the universe just rounds to the nearest five minutes, you know that?_

Twenty. Seven. Minutes. Later…. The captain was beamed aboard with the rest of the away team. Captain Kirk was experiencing a severe allergic reaction to the flora on the planet and was rushed to Med Bay. The remainder of the team experienced no adverse effects. Eight minutes after Captain Kirk's entry into Med Bay, Doctor McCoy attempted to use a control panel in Med Bay to set up a constant monitoring system for medical's sole patient at the time. This failed, due to the alteration that an as of yet undiscovered crew member made. Doctor McCoy has spent the last-

 _Three and a half hours!_

-three hours and twenty-seven minutes correcting the changes and improvising a monitoring system. I do not believe I need to emphasize how serious this matter is. Please come forward now if you wish for the punishment to be lenient.

 _Spock! You don't threaten to punish people to make them come for-_

Transmission end.

0

Ship-wide Broadcast 162:

 _Ferret chirrups_

GAH! Goddamit Prize! Outta the chair! Move it, you furry piece of-

I'm broadcasting now? Oh. Oops.

 _Ferret chirrup_

NO! DON'T STEP THERE!

 _Faint explosions_

Crap.

0

Ship-wide Broadcast 198:

Kirk here… And I have a very important announcement. Aw, screw the important announcement. I need to vent.

AGAIN! Are you kidding me? For the love of- WHY? Why are you doing this to me? Do you know how many people I have had to write a report on for "conduct unbecoming of an officer"? I'm trying, you know. But now that we have reached three – three! – fights between crew in seven months I cannot treat these as individual incidents anymore! You've forced my hand. I will be filing reports on all crew involved in the confrontations and opening an inquiry as to the cause of these fights. If anyone –anyone AT ALL – has been withholding information about the nature of these fights or their cause, I will disregard any disciplinary action for the individual providing the information. It doesn't matter now that you didn't come forward before, but now we need to get to the bottom of this. Please contact Doctor McCoy, Commander Spock, or myself if you wish to come forward. I urge you to do so.

Also, one of the people involved stepped on Enter. I don't like ferrets – I don't! – but stepping on animals is not cool.

Ship-wide Broadcast 203:

Attention crew of the Enterprise, this is your Captain speaking. Every person on this ship is a member of an intelligent species, correct? You should be saying "Correct" right now. Anyway, all of those intelligent species grew up on a planet. That planet formed around a star and over the course of millions of years became suitable to support life. But not only did it support life, it created it. It had the proper proportion of elements, the correct environment, was placed the correct distance away from their star so the rock wouldn't freeze or burn, etcetera. And so, life formed. A happy accident.

After that, life began to evolve. Single-celled organisms, to multi-cellular, to some form of animal. And then that animal began to evolve further. A species began to question, to wonder. That species learned. They taught their children. And then through hundreds of thousands of years, that knowledge accumulated and expanded and reached the point where that species could step onto a hunk of metal and blast themselves – insanely – out of their life-supporting atmosphere and into the cold void of space. And then they met other insane, intelligent species that could do the same exact thing. Intelligent life, jumping through space faster than light can travel. Every person on this boat comes from that. We come from what could be considered a miracle…

SO ACT LIKE IT!

Kirk out.

Ship-wide Broadcast 204:

For clarification, I mean stop fighting and acting like idiots. You're on the Starfleet flagship, damn it! Forget the evolution thing, the fact that you're on the Enterprise should be enough of a reason for you to start acting responsibly. If you don't wish to comply with this order, you may leave the ship at any time. Unfortunately, you cannot take a shuttle, so you will have to exit by airlock. Kirk out.

0

Ship-wide Broadcast 222:

A tribble? A TRIBBLE? REALLY?

Or should I say "tribbles" at this point?

In any case… WHY DO YOU DO THIS TO ME?

0

Ship-wide Broadcast 243:

Attention, Enterprise. As I'm sure you're aware, we have been experiencing localized power failure on several decks. Decks 2, 6, 9, 10, and 14 are now off-limits to all personnel, with the sole exceptions of Commander Spock, Lieutenant Chekov, and Engineer Scott and his team. If your cabin is on one of the locked decks, please check the computer for your new room assignment.

Additionally, I just saw Enter running down a hall. May I ask the general populace why he is suddenly bright blue and covered in glitter? This is a dignified ferret. He does not need the addition of sparkles. I know I don't like the dang thing… I mean, come on, it's road kill! But that just proves my point! If I can feel indignation on his behalf that means that whatever ya'll did was messed up!

Oh God, I just said ya'll, didn't I? Bones, you jerk! You're rubbing off on me!

Ship-wide Broadcast 244:

We have been boarded. I repeat, we have been boarded. Hostiles are armed and dangerous. All nonessential personnel, stay where you are. Do not interfere with the operation of the security teams.

Ship-wide Broadcast 245:

Attention, crew of the Enterprise. The threat has been neutralized. The hostiles were a raiding party sent out by the system we just left to follow us and acquire the source of our ship's power; their follow-up orders were to destroy us if they could not steal it or take it by force. They were unsuccessful; Lieutenant Chekov and Engineer Scott stymied their attacks on our core and through the valiant efforts of our security teams, the rest of the ship remained intact.

However, I regret to inform you that we lost three good men during the confrontation. If you would be so kind as to hold a moment of silence for our fallen comrades, Ensign Maria Romano, Yeoman Jessie Tan, and Ensign Alek Zu. There will be a memorial service at 1300 hours tomorrow.

Ship-wide Broadcast 246:

 _Exasperated sigh_.

As many of you have pointed out, we also lost a ferret during the events of yesterday. Rest in peace, Enter.

Ship-wide Broadcast 247:

I blame the jerks that covered him in blue and white glitter. That probably made him more noticeable.

0

Ship-wide Broadcast 300:

Happy Thanksgiving! Before we begin our feast, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you.

0

Ship-wide Broadcast 351:

Attention, Enterprise, this is your captain speaking! As I am sure you're aware, in two weeks we will be celebrating the end of the first year of our five-year mission! It is also the projected date for our departure of known space. As such, I am organizing a five day Olympic-style celebration!

The group events will be a mile-long relay, capture the flag, dodge ball, roller hockey… that one is a bad idea, who came up with that? Uh, and finally, volleyball and water polo.

The individual events will be fencing, tennis, pathetic-tennis – er, excuse me – ping pong, wrestling, laser tag, hide-and-seek, boxing, freestyle swimming, the high-dive, butterfly stroke, backstroke, a one kilometer long foot race, 200 meter dash, a marathon, and beer pong. Yes, I'm serious about that last one. I needed to come up with something I could win. Sue me.

The first event takes place a week from today. You can find the sign-up log in the mess hall. Please check the required number of team members before signing up for team events. You can nominate alternates, but you have to make that clear when listing your team. All teams with the incorrect number of people will be disqualified. No crew member may be a part of more than one team for a single event.

Addendum. Spock just told me I'm not allowed to call "the Event" the Olympics. So we're calling it Field Week. Whoop-de-doo.

0

Ship-wide Broadcast 363:

Attention, crew of the Enterprise, I would like to take this time to congratulate everyone on a fantastic Field Week. I am also going to list our gold-medal winners for each event. For the mile relay, Team 'FleetFeet; consisting of Carol Marcus, Hikaru Sulu, and Pavel Chekov. Uh, you know, I'm not going to list out the members of each team. You guys can look it up, if you're that interested. The members of each team are listed in the ship's computer.

The winning team for capture the flag was Team Red Shirt. Wow, what an original team name. Ow! Uhura! … Ahem. The winning team of dodge ball was Team Bad-Ass-Bridge-Crew. Go us. Roller hockey, Team Hawk-e. Volleyball, Team Sandburn. Water polo, Team Nemo.

Hikaru Sulu placed first in fencing. Emma Jin in tennis. Rodger Wilcox in ping pong. Cupcake in wrestling. Excuse me. Hendorff in wrestling.

Rob Enhood in laser tag. Jerry Maus, hide-and-seek. Tom Qat, boxing. James Moore-Yarti, freestyle swimming. Cher Lockoems, high-dive event. Mariposa Raquel, butterfly stroke. Jay Gatsbe, backstroke.

Pavel Chekov won the one kilometer race, the 200 meter dash, and the marathon. Damn. Impressive.

Last, and quite possibly least… Montgomery Scott won first in beer pong.

They're all to be congratulated.

Except for Scotty. He sucks.

Ship-wide Broadcast 364:

Attention, crew of the Enterprise! This is your Captain speaking, just giving you a quick heads up. According to preliminary readings of the unexplored sector we are about to enter, there appears to be a… a… uh, Uhura, are you sure that's how you pronounce – geez! Okay! I get it! You're sure! Ahem. According to preliminary readings of the unexplored sector we are about to enter, there appears to be a SEP-TEN-AIR-IE… Sept-en-ary. Septenary! A septenary star system, not too far from our point of entry.

For those of you who don't know, that's a system with seven stars in it. And by not too far, I mean about a week at warp nine, so we're going to get there in about a month, at the speed we will be using to survey the area. Anyway, the reason this is a heads up is because the stellar cartography department is currently flipping their-

Oh, I can't say that? Okay. The stellar cartography department is flipping out right now. Do not approach unless you have a system chart for a shield and a full cup of coffee for a sword. Seriously, I went down there this morning. PADDs were everywhere. Scans on every computer. It was a mess. Long story short, do not mess with anyone whose job has anything to do with those stars unless you feel like being attacked by a swarm of sleep-deprived zombie-astrophysicists. It now occurs to me that description applies to at least thirty percent of the people on this boat, so just pretend I didn't say anything.

Uh.

Kirk out.

-0-

 **Yay! I'm so glad I get to post this again! Personally, this was one of my favorite chapters to write. I hope you enjoy (re)reading it! Although, I did make a few minor changes.**

 **The timing of this is really appropriate, since the Olympics are actually going on right now. Hurrah, for coincidences!**

 **What is the cause of these annoying fights, I wonder? Shall we find out more next time? Who knows? (I do!) Stay tuned to find out!**


	22. Chapter 22: Confrontation

**We're finally on to the new stuff! Woo hoo!**

-0-

Chapter 22: Confrontation

Jim stopped dead in the middle of the hall.

"What the!" he exclaimed and then backpedaled, nearly stepping on Prize, who had taken to following the captain around since her brother died. The hallway was packed with people; they all held drinks and seemed perfectly content to just chat it up in the middle of the hall of the Starfleet flagship _when that ship was approaching unknown space._

 _"_ Who decided that this was a good idea?" Jim exclaimed to no one, everyone, and anyone at the same time. "Who thought that it would _totally_ go over well to pack the halls with people when we're getting closer and closer to the part of space that has the highest likelihood of throwing us all for a loop! I mean, with our luck it would be some sort of temporal loop that would result in us Groundhog-Day-ing it for eternity! At least until Spock does something smart and I do something incredibly brave! Honestly! What are you people doing?-!" he shouted at the wall of people before him. But not a single person answered. The few crew members that actually paid attention to his rant just snickered.

They snickered!

"Who even snickers anymore? That should be a candy and nothing else!" Jim muttered to himself, sulking by the edge of the hall. Prize rubbed up against his leg and made some sort of chirrup noise, and the captain slid her a sidelong look. "I don't know what you're saying." The ferret chirruped again, this time standing on her hind legs. "I don't speak ferret," Jim stated, staring the tiny creature in the eyes. Prize stretched slightly, pawing at the air, sleek brown back glinting in the harsh lights of the hall. "Up?" he asked, and Prize stretched again, giving off an even higher pitched noise than before. "Okay then, road kill. Up it is." Jim leaned down and held out an arm that Prize latched onto before scurrying to sit on his shoulder. "You know something, Prize?" The ferret turned to look at him with dark eyes that seemed just a touch too deep for an animal. "I think you might be the Spock of ferrets."

Without acknowledging he had spoken, the ferret whipped its head to look behind Jim; it's back arched and it hissed, spitting.

"If that's the case then you must be the human equivalent of Enter, Captain," resonated a deep voice from the direction Prize was looking. Jim turned to see T'kao Sge, one of the oldest crew members of the Enterprise. He was only forty-two, and that was very telling of the ship's average age. Most ships had an average crew age of around thirty-two or so with a much wider range than the Enterprise, but eighty percent of the Enterprise's crew was age range twenty-two to thirty and the mean age was twenty-five. Sometimes Jim had a hard time believing that Bones was on the older end of the spectrum. Inevitably though, that disbelief brought up the very uncomfortable fact that Bones had a daughter who was actually old enough to serve in Starfleet. She was also only a few years younger than the captain, which was rather disconcerting.

Actually, that whole conversation had been a bit disconcerting, even if it had occurred almost a year before. The ensuing argument hadn't been that comfortable either, but at least it had a happy, if indecisive, ending. McCoy and Joanna were at least spending time together, even if they weren't communicating. That was good, right?

"Captain?" T'kao was still standing in front of him, right next to the giant crowd of people in the hall.

"Sorry, Lieutenant Sge. Got a bit lost in my own head for a second. What did you say?" Jim smiled his winning smile and stamped down the final remnants of that memory. T'kao chuckled.

"I was speaking of you and the ferret. And then of this party. A surprising sight, no?" T'kao was a researcher in stellar cartography. He'd actually been a professor at the Academy until this mission. "I likened the development of this gathering to the formation of a neutron star and the accompanying nebula."

Huh.

That just figures.

"Oh really, T'kao?" Jim asked, expertly feigning interest while also expertly ignoring the ferret that was now sniffing at his ear. "In what way?"

"I'm sure you know about supernovas! It starts with a large star that produced iron in its core. Fusion stops, since it takes energy to fuse elements above iron, instead of producing energy like hydrogen fusion. Because fusion in the core stops, the gravity pulling the mass of the star's atmosphere inward is greater than the outward pressure of fusion that keeps it up during the earlier parts of its life. The atmosphere collapses in a split second, creating great pressure in the core. The material in the core collapses so far that the free floating electrons are forced into the nuclei. When the electrons hit the protons, they produce a neutron and neutrino. While neutrinos generally don't interact with matter, the great wave of them being forced from the core hits the collapsing atmosphere and slows it or turns it around. That, along with material bouncing off what is essentially the surface of the core, sends the remainder of the atmosphere off into space while the core is left behind as a bundle of neutrons no larger across than a city, but with incredibly high density!" T'kao looked excited. But then again, he always looked excited when talking about neutron stars. Jim had no idea why; they weren't exactly the most thrilling things in the universe. Sure, they were the most extreme form of matter before black holes, but other than that and their stunning regularity of rotation, they didn't do much. At least, not much of interest. "The expelled atmosphere joins earlier atmospheric blow out material and forms a nebula around the neutron star. In this case, the nebula is the wall of people you see before you and the neutron star is the place where the party commenced," T'kao concluded.

 **TL;DR** : T'kao explains weird forced metaphor. Blah blah (ACCURATE!) Science-y mumbo jumbo. Heey look. There's a point. Woo.

Kirk was frozen in time, peering at T'kao with an open mouth. When he realized he was gaping, he clicked his teeth together and nodded goodbye through an open-mouthed grimace. Not two seconds later he was pushing his way through the 'nebula' of people. He shouldered his way past a variety of crew members, all of whom held red cups and were chatting without a care in the world. Idiots. It took a while, but he made it to the rec room where the party had begun, containing the core group that started it all.

They were an odd, mismatched bunch; Mil Jacobs, Marcus J. Lowen, Ensign Nguyen, Nurse Frost (who was driving Bones right up a wall), Sean Nils, and a few other people had apparently formed a close-knit group. They were always together. One of the "other people" was Kater Patron, Sulu's Orion boyfriend. Off to the side, he and Sulu were cuddling on the couch.

"If they don't knock it off soon, they're gonna give me a cavity," Bones said, walking up to Jim's side. "Too damn sweet and lovey-dovey. Not that it's that surprising. They keep breaking up and getting back together, so I suppose they're just repeating the stupid googly-eyed honeymoon phase over and over."

"And I suppose that's the exact attitude you won your beautiful ex-wife with, hmm?" Kirk smirked. The expletives that Bones muttered under his breath were enough to make even a pirate blush. Luckily, Kirk was not a pirate, despite the fact that he currently had a very stinky animal sitting on his shoulder that was probably capable of human speech. "Language Bones," Jim laughed. ' _Or you'll teach the ferret to cuss…'_ Jim thought. ' _Hey, ferret even sounds like parrot. And I am a captain... Maybe I am a pirate…_ ' Jim now held a newfound regard for Prize, sitting majestically on his shoulder.

"You know, I could have sworn they were gonna break up permanently after that last fight," Bones said, brow furrowing. In the dimmed light of the rec room it made wrinkles appear darkly on his face and looked old. Jim was not used to seeing him like that and turned away, spying a replicator by the wall.

"Which one? The gym argument or the mess hall one?" Jim asked, walking over to the replicator and getting something to drink. Prize jumped off his shoulder and scurried across the table and down the leg. After the ferret had passed him without incident, Bones followed Jim, snagging a drink as well.

"No, no," Bones remarked. He said it almost as if discussing the weather, but that wasn't really his fault. Kater and Sulu were undoubtedly one of the most volatile on-again-off-again couples on the Enterprise. It really did remind Jim of the weather; unpredictable, sometimes placid, sometimes not, and changing instantaneously. Bones continued, "I was talking about that big blow up in the cargo bay."

"Really? Didn't hear about that one. For the life of me I can't figure out those two… you think we should try and play matchmaker? Maybe find both of them a better option? I hear there's this one guy in engineering with a serious crush on Sulu. Maybe if we did a bit of nudging…" Jim suggested. He reclined back in a chair that he'd never sat in before, because whenever he came into this rec room someone else was always sprawled across it. Now he discovered why; the chair was heavenly. Jim had _originally_ been heading to the mess hall when he came across the party. Now, though, he figured he'd just stay here. "Geez, Bones, you have to try this chair! It's so comfy…"

"Way to get off topic, Jim. And no, we should not play matchmaker with Sulu and Kater. Their relationship is their business. Unless it's affecting their work, which it's not, or appears violent, which it doesn't, you have no right to step in. Or bet on when they're going to break up for longer than a week, which I know you've done," Bones glared at Jim and then muttered under his breath, "Scotty should never have started that pool in the first place."

"But I won, remember? A month ago?" Jim smirked and watched Sulu and Kater talking across the room; they seemed fine now. Jim wondered whether he should tell Bones that Scotty actually had a betting pool about Joanna, too. _Whose heart was she going to break next?_ was the question. He'd heard Nurse Frost had won a healthy sum two weeks before. Jim had never actually bet on anything concerning Joanna – he did have some common decency – but if he had bet, he would put his money on Joey's interpreter. They hadn't dated yet, and probably never would, but there was a whole lot of tension between those two. Of what kind? Jim wasn't sure. But on a ship like this, you've only got so many options.

"Are you not hearing me?" Bones asked. "Betting on Sulu's love life is rude and you shouldn't be doing it. Especially as the captain and especially as his friend. What do you think will happen when he finds out, huh? This is a small ship for five whole years in space. At some point, that news is going to circle around to him. Sooner than later, I'd guess," Bones commented. He followed Jim's line of sight to watch the two love birds across the room. "I'll admit I don't understand why they still date when they fight that much, but… I don't know. Maybe I'm just a really bad judge of compatibility-"

Jim snorted loudly and opened his mouth wide to speak.

"Don't say it!" Bones exclaimed. "I know what you're about to say, and just don't!" Jim let out a breathy laugh instead and flicked his eyes back over to McCoy.

"Yeah, sure. I won't say anything about your terrible home life. Right now."

"Jim-"

"Fine! I won't say anything, period. Happy?" Jim asked.

"Not very, but close enough," Bones grumbled, shrugging. He took a sip of his drink and they sat in relative silence for a few minutes, just looking around at everyone. Standing by the door next to her interpreter stood Joanna Whitten; Lieutenant Sge stood in front of her and they appeared deep in conversation. They were both in stellar cartography so maybe something about… he saw Joanna make one of the only proper signs he knew. Stars. Ah. So that was it.

For some reason, Jim felt a twinge of anxiety in his stomach. There was something not quite right about Joanna's eyes; a steely edge to what should be a soft grey made him wonder what she saw when she looked around the room. For a reason he couldn't fathom, the word 'enemies' came to mind. Swallowing hard and glancing away, Jim wondered what track she would have gone into at the Academy if she hadn't been deaf. Her gaze said she would have been in Security. Her stance said she would have been good at it.

"Hey, Jim." Bones was looking in the other direction, peering curiously across the room. "You see that group over there?" Jim turned to see Sean Nils, Nurse Frost, and Mil Jacobs. "They look a bit… intense. What do you think is going on?" Bones asked. Lieutenant Sge strode over to the group, apparently leaving Joanna in the dust. Not a minute later, Xi Nguyen, Joanna's interpreter, dashed up as well. He slid through the crowd with an ease that reminded Jim that Nguyen _had_ actually spent two years on the Security track before switching to stellar cartography. ' _That was a weird time to remember that,_ ' Jim thought. ' _I guess it's just because I'm on edge. But why-_ '

"That's Joey's interpreter, right? I've seen him a few times. Is Joey here?" Bones asked, peering around the room, which seemed all at once less crowded.

"Yeah," Jim replied. "She's over by the- huh? Door? Guess not. She was there a second ago." Jim sat up straight and craned his neck to look around the dimly lit room. There were a few people on the far side by the window, including the intense looking ensign club. But other than that it looked like everyone was draining out into the hall; the room was about half empty when the noise drifting into the room from the door grew louder very quickly. "Uh, Bones…"

There was a screech from the hall and sounds of shouting followed it.

They didn't pause to look at each other in disbelief. They didn't stop to ask what the hell it could be. They just ran, shoving people out of the way once they reached the door. Unfolding was a scene of pure pandemonium. People were pushing, shoving, kicking, gouging, huddling next to the wall. Before he even realized what he was doing, Jim had whistled as loud as he could and the fight had stopped, except for a small clump of struggling people in the middle.

He decided to count the whistle as personal growth. Not too long ago he probably would have just jumped in there to break it up, no questions asked.

"That's enough!" he bellowed. In the edges of his vision he saw people scurrying off to either side, everyone trying to get away as soon as possible. Before him, the struggling slowly stopped, off duty members of security keeping tight hold of the people in the fight. Jim looked at them all, jaw clenched and seething. There was a girl from security (Ensign Emily… Clearwood? Maybe?), Benjamin Mores from engineering, and Nurse Aaron Aarons, all being restrained. All around them, people were picking themselves up and dusting themselves off from being knocked over in the fight. Sulu stumbled out of the rec room, Kater nowhere to be seen,

"Nobody move!" Jim shouted again, and all movement stilled. Sulu, trying and failing to be subtle, slid up next to the captain and CMO. For the sake of his sanity and avoiding ulcers for as long as possible, Jim made the executive decision to ignore Sulu ignoring his orders. Jim continued, "I want one person. A single person. To tell me what happened." He was answered with nothing but silence. "Really? We're going to do this the hard way then? You!" He snapped out his hand to point at a random crew member. A girl in red. "What happened?" All she did was look at him in terror. No, she wasn't looking at him… Jim turned around to follow her line of sight and saw that she actually seemed terrified… of Bones? Of course that made some sort of sense, Bones could be very scary when he wanted, but if Jim remembered correctly, this was Ensign Mariposa Raquel. She'd gone in to Med Bay for an accidental injury not too long ago, right after the Field Week event, and Jim remembered Bones saying that she'd been so terrified he'd had to be extra nice. He even gave her a lollipop. (It was surprising how effective those things were even on fully grown adults.) Ensign Raquel really didn't have any reason to be terrified of Bones now.

"Alright," Bones interjected. "Who's gotten themselves hurt?"

"There's a girl over here, sir!" called a voice from the back. Jim's eyebrows shot up. From the looks of things no one had been able to land any solid punches. Not even the aggressors seemed any worse for wear, aside from some mussed up hair. Jim followed Bones past the fighters and poor, terrified Mariposa. And then, if at all possible, Jim's eyebrows climbed even higher.

"Joey?" Bones exclaimed. Joanna Whitten sat on the ground, sulking; there was a split in her lip and an already forming bruise on her cheek. She held her right arm with her left, something clearly wrong with her shoulder. Jim looked down at the girl. She seemed oddly… real. Oddly… there. Jim didn't quite know how to put it. It's just that, there she sat on the pristine white floor, brown hair tugged in all directions, clothes rumpled, and bleeding from two places on her face. There was nothing about her pout and sulk that was cute; it was unnerving. And very present. As if she wanted to be seen.

Bones couldn't sense how unsettling it was, though. He was too furious to see anything but red.

It dawned on Jim that this was why Mariposa had been so terrified.

"WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED?" Bones exploded, whipping back around and approaching the three restrained officers. Two of them flinched back and clammed up; they looked over to Jim, pleading with their eyes to call the CMO off. Benjamin Mores wasn't having any of it, though.

"She started it!" Ensign Mores spit out. A tiny bit of blood trickled from his own split lip and dropped, disappearing into his red shirt.

"She's a five-foot-tall, harmless little girl! You expect me to believe she'd just attack all of you?" Bones scoffed.

"Well, since that's what happened, yes! This is why no one's come forward before now! She always starts fights and then never gets caught! We all just assumed you were letting her get off scot-free, 'cause she's your daughter!" Mores shouted. Bones' expression morphed from angry to riotous; Jim could almost hear a low growl coming from the back of his throat. Jim, sensing imminent danger, leapt forward and put himself overtly between Bones and Mores.

"All three of you, report to Med Bay," Jim said, addressing the fighters. He turned to Joanna. "Med Bay," he said, enunciating clearly and making sure that she could easily read his lips. "Now." As Joanna clambered up from the floor, still gingerly holding one arm, Jim looked around at the crowd. "Anyone know where Xi Nguyen is?" The crowd milled around for a second, everyone looking for Ensign Nguyen… or at least pretending to, so as not to incur the wrath of Jim, Bones, and Sulu. Sulu, though not having said much, was still a force to be reckoned with, glaring out at everyone.

"Don't worry about Nguyen, Jim. I can interpret," Bones growled, never taking his eyes off Mores. Jim ignored both them and their death stare tennis match.

"Ensign Raquel," the captain said. The little ensign jumped forward, trembling slightly. "I'm sorry about earlier. Could you locate Ensign Nguyen and bring him to Med Bay, please?"

"Yes, sir!" Mariposa smiled, gave a single nod, and dashed off down the hall; the crowd closed over her wake instantly, once again surrounding the three members of the command crew and the fighters.

"Alright! If anyone had any information relevant to the fight, please follow us to Med Bay. If not, you are dismissed," Jim announced, and the hall was filled with the sound of shuffling feet and murmuring voices, everyone trying to push themselves down the hall at once, but without drawing attention to themselves.

Jim and Bones looked over at Joanna. She stood perfectly still, staring straight ahead, and… was that the ghost of a smile?

With a shiver, Jim rubbed his arms and looked away from the girl. There was something about her stare that said she was not only content, but happy with the way things had turned out.

' _Why could that be?_ ' Jim wondered, and then he heard Bones clear his throat.

"Alright, kiddies. Let's move out," Bones proclaimed, and marched off down the hall.

-0-

 **(cheesy announcer voice) *So, our buddies in charge were finally present for one of the fights! And Joanna's been starting them? Hmm…. What's going on? Tune in next time to find out***

 **Anyway, I'd just like to thank everyone who reads this story! Reviews, follows, favorites, and views are all the most amazing thing in the world and make me very happy whenever I see them!**


	23. Chapter 23: Verify

**And, we're back!**

-0-

Chapter 23: Verify

So far it had been one of Pavel's better days aboard the Enterprise. He and Hikaru had stayed up until four in the morning playing card games and watching crappy movies. In a way, it had felt just like old times back on Earth. Their cramped dorm room back at the Academy – draughty vents and all – felt like it was seconds away instead of months; Pavel could almost smell the burning popcorn, made in the microwave they had assembled from scraps found around the engineering labs. Later on they'd gotten in trouble when the microwave caught fire and died, but while it was still alive and kicking it worked a bit too well. Thus, burned popcorn. The replicators on the Enterprise, though; those made the popcorn perfectly, every time… Pavel never thought he would say it, but he missed the scalding butter and charred kernels. Burned popcorn was just one more of the necessities required to watch horrible soap operas and terrible movies that really needed to be taken out of circulation for the good of humanity.

Despite the dismally perfect, replicated popcorn, the rest of the day had been going pretty well. It wasn't spectacularly exciting or enthralling. That was a good thing, though. Life on the Enterprise usually went one of three ways. Good exciting, bad exciting, and not-exciting-with-a-side-of-sheer-boredom-topped-with-bland-sauce-and-blueberries.

(Of all the berries, it was Pavel's humble opinion the blueberries were the least deserving of the name.)

Wondrously, Pavel's day had thus far not taken any of those paths. Pure and simple, it was a day of contentment. Neither he nor Hikaru had a shift that day, which was why they could stay up until four in the morning. Hikaru had bowed out around then and went back to his own room, and Pavel had decided that even if he didn't have that much to do that day, sleep was a necessity. And then. He slept. Nine. Hours. Nine whole hours! After so long without a decent night's sleep, he had begun to wonder if it was a myth, constructed to taunt the exhausted and miserable. But no. Lo and behold: nine full hours of uninterrupted shut eye. And when he woke up, he didn't even get out of bed! He just stayed there, sprawled under the covers and enjoying the warmth. It took another hour before he decided that he was hungry enough to go get breakfast… Which was actually lunch, since it was two in the afternoon.

He still had pancakes, though, even if it wasn't technically breakfast time. And they were the _good_ pancakes, the ones that Scotty made from scratch every once in a blue moon. Scotty couldn't cook much, but his pancakes were undoubtedly the most amazing, fluffy, melty, buttery ones that Pavel had ever had the privilege of tasting.

"You look happy," Scotty quipped. He stood in front of the sink, scrubbing a pan down with a disturbingly yellow sponge that looked like it ought to be wearing a tie, some brown shorts, and laughing incessantly.

"F'ese 're rewwy goo'!" Pavel declared through his mouthful of pancakes. The look Scotty turned to give him said quite clearly that with the food and the accent, Pavel's words had been unintelligible. After a few more seconds of chewing, Pavel spluttered, "I said these are really good. You make the best pancakes."

"Oh, well then! Thank you very much!" Scotty said. He straightened up a bit and turned back to smile at the wall behind the sink, still scrubbing at a bit of dried batter that had adhered itself to the pan.

"I think there's some steel wool around here somewhere," Pavel muttered, glancing around the bright kitchen. He didn't know why he did that, it wasn't like it was going to pop out of a drawer and announce its presence, begging to have its face rubbed into some gunk caked onto a random kitchen utensil.

"Steel wool! No, you don't use steel wool on a pan like this! You'll scrape the finish off!" Scotty proclaimed. He finally seemed to be making headway rubbing the batter off and redoubled his efforts, scrubbing at a ridiculous pace.

"Given how much you know about cooking in theory, I'm surprised you're not better at it," mused Pavel. After shoveling half of a pancake in his mouth, it occurred to him that statement could be seen as insulting.

"This coming from the man that just complemented my pancakes!" Scotty put a hand to his chest and donned his best 'wounded puppy' face. In Pavel's humble opinion, his own version of that face was far superior to Scotty's. Not that he would ever say _that_ out loud. "I'm appalled!" Scotty continued, striding over to the table where Pavel was still trying to chew the half a pancake he had in his mouth. "No more pancakes for you!" Scotty smiled and swept the giant platter of them off the table and over to the smooth, gleaming counter. At the high pitched noise of protest Pavel made – it was the only sound he could make at the time, actually – Scotty said, "Now, now. These weren't for you to begin with. I only let you have some out of the goodness of my heart! They're for Nyota. It's her birthday, and she loves my pancakes!"

"Evwy won wuz!" Pavel paused and forced himself to swallow the lump of pancake he still had in his mouth. It hurt his throat and through the grimace Pavel said, "Everyone does. Like your pancakes, I mean." Scotty snatched a cover for the platter and bestowed in upon the plastic oval, making sure not to clip a single one of the golden-brown, fluffy discs that adorned it.

"Of course they do! They're delicious! And beautiful, if I do say so myself!" Scotty stood back from the platter with his hands planted firmly on his hips and observed the symmetrical pyramid of pancakes that sat inside the clear plastic dome. And it suddenly occurred to Pavel:

"You only let me have some of the pancakes so you could stack them into an even pyramid, didn't you?" Pavel asked, smirking past his glass of orange juice. For the first part of their conversation, the glass had sat untouched next to Scotty's mug of coffee (that in all honesty, was probably half scotch) on the glossy kitchen table. Like all the surfaces in the far underutilized kitchen, it was spotless. Even though everyone on the Enterprise claimed to miss home cooking, few and far between were the people who decided to forgo the replicator and actually make something by hand. Thusly, was the kitchen spotless, as there were rarely any spots to clean up in the first place.

When Pavel mentioned the underhanded method Scotty had used to achieve his goal of perfect pancake symmetry, Scotty didn't even have the good grace to look abashed. He just plopped down at the gleaming table in front of his "coffee" mug, snatching one of the pancakes off Pavel's plate as he did so.

"I like things well put together and even. It comes with the job description," Scotty stated. He then tried to wag his finger at Pavel, but only succeeded on flapping around the pancake that he still held in his hand. Unable to hold back an undignified snort, Pavel was instantly doubled over, holding his nose and coughing, groping for a napkin. The orange juice he had been drinking took a shortcut back out when he snorted and ended up searing the inside of his nasal passages as it did so.

"Oh, geez! That burns!" he wheezed.

Scotty handed him a napkin, touting, "That's what you get for criticizing my cooking methods. And can you imagine the state the Enterprise would be in if I didn't like things that well put together and symmetrical and clean? Honestly, even I can barely keep her together sometimes what with all the knocking about you and Jim and Sulu give her! How d'you think you'd do if someone else were in charge?"

Pavel blew his nose a few times, wondering what he did to deserve the lecture. He laughed though, through watering eyes, and said, "No one's criticizing your engineering abilities. Or your pancakes. Or your pancake display, for that matter. I just appreciate the food. What I'm saying is, the rest of your cooking leaves much to be desired."

"I guess that's true enough." Scotty smiled and lifted his mug to Pavel. For the first time, Pavel noticed that on the side was a cartoon picture of a roll of duct tape, captioned 'My Best Friend.' When Pavel laughed, Scotty peered at him past the mug. "What's so funny?" he asked, as Pavel raised his orange juice glass to tap the edge of Scotty's mug.

"Your coffee cup. I don't think I've seen that one before," Pavel replied. "I've seen the, uh, the 'Don't bother me until this cup is empty', but never this one. I think it's funny. Both suit you."

"They do, at that. The captain got them for me, oh, must be a few years ago, now," said Scotty, a bit wistful. For a few moments they both sat in silence, Pavel still enjoying his pancakes and Scotty his 'coffee.' "You miss Earth?" Scotty asked abruptly.

"What?"

"Do you miss Earth? Just, in general." Scotty waved his hand in the air for a second before continuing, "Do you miss home?"

Pavel wasn't going to lie; he'd thought about that question a lot. They all had. It had been exactly one year, one hour, and ten minutes since he'd set foot on his home planet, though the fact that he knew that would undoubtedly lead one to the wrong conclusion.

"No."

Scotty blinked. "Pardon?"

"No," Pavel repeated. "I don't miss Earth. I miss the times I spent on Earth, sure. But those times aren't there anymore. They're in the past. Right now, in the present, I'd much rather be out here, on the Enterprise. So, no, I don't miss it. And it is not my home anymore."

"So…" Scotty seemed frozen from the shoulders down, arms stuck in a position reminiscent of Egyptian vase paintings. "So…" His mouth was working constantly, though, opening and closing. No sounds came out, but he still gaped and clicked his mouth shut over and over. "So… I guess… Uh…. I don't know what I guess. I really don't." As Pavel shoveled up another pancake, Scotty stuttered, "You really threw me for a loop there, laddie. That was not the answer I was expecting." Pavel gave a bright smile, pancake goo covering his teeth.

"You were expecting to reminisce about the old times? Just sit here and talk about happy memories?" asked Pavel.

"Well, yes!" spluttered Scotty. "Excuse me for being predictable!" he laughed.

"I never said we couldn't!" Pavel protested. "Here. I'll go first." He gulped down some orange juice to clean his teeth of leftover pancake bits and then launched into his story. "In the back of my house in Russia, there was a shed. It was really old; I think it was supposed to be a cream color, but the paint had been there so long that it had turned kind of a dusty brown and was chipping off all over the place. The roof didn't have shingles; it was made of rippled plates of tin... Or, it was supposed to be made of tin. There was so many holes in it that it was more made of aluminium patches than anything else. It had one window made of dirty glass and it faced the house." Pavel sat forward and place his hands on the table, saying, "Now, you see, this shed – in all its dilapidated glory – intrigued me. My bedroom had a window facing the backyard and whenever I looked out it, I'd always see the roof and the side of the shed with the window. Inside, there were a whole bunch of wires and circuits and tools, and that was just what I could see through the tiny bit of the window that was clean. For weeks, all I wanted to do was get in that shed. But," Pavel sighed, "when I started to express an interest in it, my mother told me over and over that it was locked and it was going to stay locked, regardless of what I did. She stuck to it, too, always telling me the door was locked when I asked about it. And no matter how many times I asked, she wouldn't open the door. I was really disappointed, but I didn't let that deter me! Pretty soon I started badgering my brother about him stealing the keys, since I would get caught because mother already knew I wanted them and would be on the lookout. He said no! His explanation was that he didn't know where the keys were since he had never seen them. At the time, I thought he was just a liar and wouldn't do it just to annoy me. The mysteries of the shed plagued me for months after that. It actually kept me up at night a few times, since I could see the shed's roof from my bed," Pavel paused, took a sip of orange juice and continued, "So, naturally, I learned how to pick locks." Scotty's eyebrows shot up before he chuckled and raised his coffee mug in a salute of new found respect.

"It was the middle of the night when I decided to make my move," Pavel recounted, giving a half smile at the ceiling, "I grabbed my lock picking tools and climbed out the window and then slid down the roof of my house. My room was on the second story and the roof jutted out a bit in front of it. While I was sliding I actually knocked a few shingles loose and those fell off the roof before me. When I got to the gutter, things started going downhill… in the most literal way possible." Scotty snorted and Pavel did too. He had forgotten just how stupid this story was. Then he continued, "What I had forgotten was that there was a dip in the ground between the house and the shed, so the shed was on just slightly higher ground than the house but between them was a trough about a half a meter deep. So I slid off the roof and just hung from the gutter, with about three and a half meters between my feet and the ground. That sounds bad enough for a little kid, but from my perspective, hanging off the side of the house, it looked a lot farther. I hung there for, oh, I'd say a good three minutes before I finally got the courage to let go. During this time – I didn't know it while all of this was happening – my mother and brother had both woken up and came to the kitchen window, which was also in the back of the house. They didn't turn on the light, so I didn't see them, but they were watching me the entire time. I probably wouldn't have gotten caught if I'd just used the door instead of sliding down the roof and waking everyone up. Well, eventually I let go and fell into the ditch, scraping up my feet because I'd forgotten to put on shoes. Lock picking tools? Sure. I remembered those. Shoes?"

"Not a chance!" proclaimed Scotty, laughing.

"Well, I limped around to the front of the shed and finally, it was the moment of truth! I walked up to the door, knelt down, and very carefully took out my lock picking tools. Then I turned back to the handle." Pavel paused and closed his eyes, collapsing into his chair and throwing his head back.

"What? What did you do?" Scotty exclaimed.

Pavel sighed, and, keeping his eyes closed, replied:

"There was no lock on the door."

There were seven seconds of silence where Scotty did nothing but blink before he asked, "What?"

Pavel finally opened his eyes and exploded in laughter. Through heaving breaths, hiccups, and tears in his eyes, he relayed the final part of his narrative.

"There was this rusty old latch on the outside of the door, and there wasn't anything keeping it in place! I just twisted the handle and opened the door! There was no lock keeping the door closed! After I opened the door I just stood there for a full five minutes in complete shock, with bleeding and frozen feet – it was the end of autumn, by the way – with my mother and brother both laughing at me from the kitchen! And they kept laughing, too! To this day, they'll remind me about that and start laughing hysterically. Video calls, voice calls, letters, family reunions… Both of them were in on the prank, too! I agonized over that shed for almost eight months! I lost sleep over that door and learned how to pick locks, before I finally decided to go try and open it…. And there was no lock! I could have gone in there at any time! Turns out there wasn't even anything interesting in there; just a whole bunch of junk that I tried and failed to make a pet robo-dog out of…" Pavel stared dramatically off into the middle distance for a moment before returning his eyes to Scotty, a wry grin on his face.

It was at this point, after having it clearly spelled out for him, that Scotty realized exactly how ridiculous that story was. The Russian whiz kid, the one that had saved the ship and its crew who knows how many times through his technological brilliance hadn't even tried to open the damn door before coming to the conclusion that he had to teach himself to pick locks.

"And that, my dear friend Mr. Scott, is how I learned the true meaning of the phrase 'Trust, but verify,'" Pavel concluded, wiping away tears of laughter and giving a huge grin. The kitchen radiated a comfortable warmth and the aroma of pancakes lingered in the air. It was nice, being able to just… talk. Pavel hadn't relaxed like that in a while. Just as he was beginning to wonder how long it had been since he had really felt this content, the door behind him whooshed open.

"So, Mr. Scott," Pavel asked, "What story did you want to tell?"

"I don't know how top that. I really don't," Scotty replied, shaking his head. His shoulders shook with repressed laughter and he smiled at the person who had just walked in. "Hello there, birthday girl!" Scotty proclaimed. Pavel turned around fully in his white plastic chair to see Nyota, who was walking past the smooth white wall with her usual grace. Happy to see her, Pavel smiled brightly; she, in return, gave an almost-confused half-smile, brow furrowed and head titled to the side.

"Happy birthday, Nyota," Pavel said and got up from his seat as she approached. He kissed her cheek, and continued, "I didn't think I'd see you until the party tonight, so I don't have your present with me. Sorry." He shrugged and smiled at the ground, but after a moment he realized she was just looking at him. Face flushing in embarrassment, he glanced back up and met Nyota's quizzical eyes.

"Are you okay?" she inquired, placing the back of her hand to his forehead and then his cheek, even as he tried to dodged away. "You don't feel feverish…" She peered at him before taking a step back, keen eyes scanning him for anything out of the ordinary. He vaguely felt like he was being x-rayed, but shrugged off his discomfort. He was not going to let anything ruin his good day; not Nyota mother-hen-ing him, not Scotty asking unnecessarily deep question… The day was already mostly over, anyway, since he'd woken up so late. What was the worst that could happen?

"What are you talking about? I'm _fine_! I'm having a really good day, actually! Look! Mr. Scott made pancakes!" Pavel gestured over his right shoulder toward the counter and then glared over at Scotty, still sitting at the table. "I already had some, but he wouldn't let me have any more since he made them for you." Nyota was not convinced about Pavel's theoretical "fine-ness;" she planted her feet and crossed her arms. She even had that I-know-what-you're-hiding look on her face that no one particularly liked, but down right hated when they knew they were telling the truth. Pavel stood up straight; he knew what was coming was a brutal offence by Nyota, designed to wear down even the toughest opponent (i.e. Spock). Knowing he could weather it, though, Pavel prepared himself for a metaphorical fight to the death. He had to stamp down a smile; they hadn't had a verbal sparring session like this in months.

He needn't have bothered to prepare, however.

All of their communicators went off at once, giving three flashes of yellow, one of red, and then two of blue.

For a second all three of them were rooted in place, petrified.

"The tap into ILCA…" Nyota whispered. "They used it."

There was a pause where complete silence reigned supreme. They were just staring at one another, eyes flickering from person to person…. And then Scotty exploded with the only word that he could conjure up just then.

"SHIT!"

Nyota whipped around on her heal and Scotty leapt from his seat like it was on fire; both of them threw themselves at the door. Neither of them beat Pavel, though, who was already out the room and halfway down the hall.

-0-

 **Action! Adventure! Excitement! Sitting-around-and-talking-to-each-other-about-nothing-in-particular!**

 **And Nyota's birthday once again taking a backseat to the Enterprise being a big narcissistic baby who needs everything to be about her and her problems.**

 **At least Pavel had a good day. :)**

 **In any case, we're approaching the final story arc at warp speed! We're still on-track-ish for (about) thirty chapters! Thanks for sticking with me, amazing readers and followers and favorite-ers! And thank you so much for the wonderful comments; I appreciate it every time someone takes time out of their day to write one.**

 **Until next time!**


	24. Chapter 24: Triptych

***Twentieth Century Fox fanfare playing in the background***

 **And finally! We get some details about the weird septenary star system.**

-0-

Chapter 24: Triptych

Trouble comes in threes.

Pavel had first heard the phrase from Doctor McCoy, during their short stint of duty after the Nerada incident but before the whole Kahn debacle. At the time, Pavel had dismissed it as superstitious nonsense, but eventually he began to notice that Doctor McCoy – as grumpy and sarcastic as he was – might be on to something. Maybe it was because Pavel was looking for it or maybe it was because it was true, but suddenly all the problems that were cropping up on the ship seemed to come in waves of three. Usually the three problems were personnel, technical, and external problems, not necessarily in that order.

When this phrase first became part of Pavel's vocabulary he'd been dealing with the personnel problem; or rather, he _was_ the personnel problem. Shortly after receiving a distress call from a research station on a planet with many large, active volcanoes, the Enterprise's warp core went on the fritz. Since Scotty had needed all hands on deck to help with repairs, Pavel had been dumped onto the engineering deck along with the other half of the Enterprise's population that knew anything about powering a warp drive. There they all were, dashing around the deck like madmen and decapitated chickens, all trying to repair the core before their distant researcher friends were melted into a gelatinous soup of scientist bits. Well, everyone had been dashing around until Doctor McCoy had shown up and bellowed at the top of his lungs for everyone to be more careful. Everyone else had begun treading on eggshells, red shirts could actually be seen to tiptoe past the CMO, but Pavel had been too busy to care what the Doctor had said, and kept up his breakneck pace… right up until the point when the ship lurched, finally resuming course, and sent Pavel face first right over the edge of a walkway railing. The next thing he knew he was sitting in Med Bay with a throbbing head and a fuming doctor who muttered too much.

Among those chesty grumbles was the phrase, 'Trouble comes in threes,' and that was almost all Pavel had seen since. The same pattern of problems peeked out every once and a while, only to duck and hide once their quota was up. And always that quota was the same: three.

And so, Pavel was not surprised to hear about the fight. He was even less surprised to hear that Joanna Whitten had been starting the fights, given what he'd heard about her, but there was no way on any planet that anyone cared to name that he would say that in front of Doctor McCoy. Pavel had never formally met Joanna Whitten, which was odd, but he knew that she took after her father in all except one thing: the vow not to harm.

Pavel tapped on his PADD, boredom creeping through every nook and cranny of his unoccupied brain. He'd asked for something to do… multiple times, as a matter of fact. But, for some reason, no one had anything for him or Hikaru to do except to sit back, relax, internally scream, and engage in some idle gossip. Resenting the term, Hikaru much preferred to call it "shooting the breeze," but Pavel thought that saying was just stupid. Besides, gossip had far fewer syllables.

One of those pieces of gossip? The fight, and Pavel got to hear all about it straight from the horse's mouth, so to speak. That was another stupid phrase, but at least it was funny. After a while, though, even that conversational well ran dry, so Hikaru and Pavel just opted to sit and stare around the room at the people who were actually making themselves useful. Scotty sat in the corner, tinkering with the tracker he'd invented a year earlier that hadn't actually been that much help (though Pavel wouldn't be the one to tell him that). Uhura, meanwhile, sat over the computer access set in the wall at the end of the room, surrounded by books and PADDs all of which were supposedly going to contribute to interpreting the mysterious ILCA transmission. Ensign Brooke – the only officer who was not in the command crew that was let in on the ILCA problem and plan – sat next to her, and they spoke so softly to one another that Pavel was surprised they could hear each other, even if they were basically sitting nose to nose.

Hikaru was tapping on his PADD playing a game, probably. Uhura and Brooke were working on decoding as they listened to the coded transmission over and over again. Scotty seemed to be working on some other kind of device to intercept the transmission.

The only other person in the room that seemed as bored as Pavel was Baxter, Brooke's guide dog, who lay with his head on his paws.

"So," Pavel muttered and looked away from the morose looking dog on the floor. Tapping his PADD again, Pavel shut off the screen and turned to face Hikaru who was still playing his game.

"Uh… Yeah?" Hikaru asked, glancing up for a moment before looking back down at his game.

"You and Kater… you guys made up? Right?" Pavel asked. "Or do you not want to talk about it?"

"No, no. It's fine. We're fine. Actually, after that last fight, uh, we kind of got it all out, you know? I think we're kind of… better off, I guess? We sorted everything out and… Well, I guess the point is that Kat and I are going to be fine now, and we're out of the woods, so to speak. In all honesty, I didn't think it was going to happen. But we did it; we sorted everything out. I think we're in it for the long haul now," Hiakru mused. Pavel did his best to hide his surprise.

"Okay. Just as long as he doesn't make you unhappy," he pronounced after a few moments. He kept a close eye on Hikaru's reaction.

"Yeah, I know," Hikaru smirked at the screen, "And he knows, too. He breaks my heart you break his face, that about right?"

"Not 'about' right, _very_ right. And undeniably true!" Pavel replied. "You're my friend; I watch your back." Before Hikaru could respond, the door to the meeting room slid open with a rush of air.

"Jim, I already told you, she is not leaving Med Bay until someone says something about this fight!" Doctor McCoy thundered into the meeting room for the fifth time in an hour and a half, Kirk striding after him. "That kid," McCoy continued, gesticulating wildly, "is going to sit there until she rots unless we find out what happened."

Spock followed both of them into the room at a much more sedate pace and walked over to where Nyota sat by the wall. Baxter wagged his tail slightly when Spock approached; for some reason beyond Pavel's understanding, all of the animals on board loved Spock, bar none. It was perhaps the most bizarre thing Pavel had come across in space thus far, animals liking the Vulcan.

"Okay, first," Kirk growled at McCoy, "I need to remind you. She is Ensign Whitten. Not 'kid'." Doctor McCoy rolled his eyes and Pavel felt a strong impulse to join in. Kirk gripped his left wrist with his right hand behind his back, clearly trying to keep his hands away from his friend's face lest he punch him out of frustration. Then Kirk ground out, "You have to understand, Bones, we need her on this project." Kirk glanced over his shoulder, looking for back up, but Spock was across the room, looking over Nyota's shoulder at the book she was skimming through. Kirk pursed his lips. "Don't we Spock?" Spock glanced up, left eyebrow arched and stared levelly across the room.

"Lieutenant Sge has made it very clear that her analysis on gravitational anomalies is unparalleled, and she has done several special studies on unusual multi-star systems. As we are approaching a septenary star system and preliminary inquisition shows that the ILCA signal was broadcast in that direction, it is logical to include her in the investigation. Both of the signal and the star system," Spock intoned. McCoy tossed his hands in the air, snorting at the ceiling.

"Don't either of you remember what's been going on for the past year? All the fights, the frustration, the inquiries? Because I do! Why, when we already promised severe punishment, should we recant now?" McCoy exploded.

"We're not recanting. We're postponing. And on top of that, we're as 'in the middle of nowhere' as it gets." A muscle in McCoy's jaw jumped as Kirk said that. 'In the middle of nowhere' is the wrong phrase to say to someone who has a pathological fear of space while standing on a starship at warp. "How is she going to avoid this? Now that we know who was involved, we only need to find out why she did it. That can be done just as easily in a week as right now, and right now we have other priorities than disciplining your- um, disciplining Ensign Whitten," Kirk replied, shouldering past McCoy to go stand by Nyota, Spock, and Brooke. McCoy took one very long, very deep breath that had Pavel wondering exactly how much air the doctor could fit into his lungs, since it was clearly far more than average.

"Would you be this lenient on her if she wasn't my daughter?" As Kirk opened his mouth to protest, McCoy cut him off. "Don't try to deny it's a factor. You just nearly called her my 'daughter' or 'kid' or something like that. It doesn't matter whether it's conscious or not, we both know that somehow it's got to be involved," McCoy sighed and looked plaintively over at his friend. "Just treat her like a regular member of the crew. What would you do then?"

"The same thing I'm doing now-" Kirk said; McCoy was about to interrupt, but Kirk just talked right over him, "because we need an expert on this kind of system. We have people that come close in terms of knowledge, but this is _her_ field and _her_ specialty. It's why she's on this ship in the first place; not because she's your daughter. So here's how it's going to go: I'm going to let her play her part and then we'll discuss disciplinary action and carry it out. Don't try to argue," Kirk held up a hand, "this is how it's going to be. Suck it up, Bones." Just then Kirk's communicator chirped and he held up one finger. "Just give me a sec, here," he said and flipped open the comm. "Yes?"

"Captain Kirk?" Lieutenant Sge's voice crackled to life through the speaker. Kirk's shoulders slumped in a way that reminded Pavel of his time spent assistant teaching at the Academy over the year they were stuck on Earth; after dealing with a particularly… _dense_ student, Pavel could remember his own posture slipping into that slouch of exasperation.

"Yes, Lieutenant" Kirk sighed. "What is it?"

"Ensign Whitten has completed her report on the septenary star system," Sge started. McCoy made a noise in the back of his throat that vaguely resembled a growl, but the look Kirk sent him silenced him to a stony glower. "And I think you should look at it," Sge continued, unaware of the interruption. Pavel couldn't see the lieutenant, but he thought he could hear a smile in Sge's voice, alongside a little… smugness, maybe?

"Do I need to look at her report now, or can it wait?" Kirk asked after taking a moment to collect himself and make sure his annoyance wouldn't creep into his voice.

"At our current speed we'll be within spitting distance of that system in the next two hours. There are some things you need to know before we get there. Whenever you can fit the review into your schedule will be fine," Sge said through the comm.

Before responding, Kirk glanced over at Sulu, raised eyebrows asking about the accuracy of the arrival time. After Sulu gave a quick nod, Kirk turned back to the comm. "What's so important that it can't wait until after we're there?"

"The system is artificial. Thought you'd like to know."

For a second Kirk did nothing but stare at the wall next to the door, his expression unreadable; around the room there were mirror images of shock on everyone else's faces. "Come again?" Kirk finally asked.

"The stars in the system have been moved to create at artificial system," Sge replied. "It really is intriguing how Ensign Whitten figured it out."

There was a beat of silence where everyone in the room simply stared into the middle distance, expressions of varying levels of confusion plastered on their faces. And then:

"I'll meet you in lab three in five minutes," Kirk stated, flipping the comm shut before returning to staring at the wall. After a moment he blinked, shaking his head a bit. "Well, okay, then. That was about the last thing I wanted to hear today."

"I don't know, Captain. I could think of a few things you'd want to hear less," Scotty piped up from the corner, not even looking away from his project. As everyone turned to him he said, "Red matter, for example? Just flying the Enterprise through a great big pile of it and then getting squished to an infinitely small point at the center of an artificial black hole and dying in a horrific and instantaneous fashion with barely enough time for regret before you're torn apart and compressed beyond the point of recognition? That sounds like it's worse, doesn't it?" Scotty said, still fiddling with his device. After a momentary pause he looked up at them and gave a sheepish smile, saying, "Wrong time, right?"

"Right," Hikaru responded, staring at Scotty with his brow furrowed. "Wrong time and way too morbid." On the PADD in front of him, Hikaru's screen showed a large, blinking graphic that said, in no uncertain terms, Hikaru had lost whatever game he had been playing. "If you'll excuse me… I'm just gonna… go… check on the bridge," he said, before sliding from his seat and jogging out the door. McCoy glared at Scotty.

"Would you quit giving our goddamn pilot anxiety? Seriously, just _stop_ talking to him when you think of problems," McCoy commanded, before dropping into a chair and throwing his head into his hands. From two seats over, Pavel thought he heard the doctor whisper to the table top, "Why me?", but that could just as easily have been Pavel's imagination. From behind him, Pavel heard someone clear their throat and turned around to find Kirk shifting from foot to foot next to Baxter.

' _I'm going to give myself whiplash with all this turning_ ,' he thought to himself, and rubbed the back of neck.

"Alright then," Kirk finally said, giving one last cursory glance around the room before striding over to the door. He seemed to slide a perplexed glance at Scotty before saying, "Pavel, you're with me. We're going to go meet Sge in the labs. Bones, you stay here, and Spock, you're in charge. Scotty…" Kirk peered at the engineering prod at the tracker, which gave off a few sparks. "Just don't blow anything up and I'll be happy."

"Can do, Captain," Scotty said to the device in front of him, which was starting to give off a suspicious green smoke that smelled of sulfur. In the periphery of his vision, Pavel thought he saw Kirk's eye twitch slightly before the captain turned back to speak to Nyota and Brooke on the far side of the room.

"You two are great. Just keep doing what you're doing." Brooke nodded and Nyota gave a quick thumbs-up, before Kirk continued, "Come on Pavel- er, Lieutenant Chekov. We've got to go talk to Sge."

This was easier said than done, as they found every lab on the Enterprise full to the brim of hopeful astrophysicists all pouring over Ensign Whitten's report and trying to recreate her observations and calculations for themselves. Blue and red shirts were pressed together so tightly in some areas that if Pavel unfocused his eyes enough, it almost seemed like there were areas of purple. After shouldering through two labs, they eventually found Sge in the only empty section of the labs they could find, the back of lab four. T'kao Sge poured over three different computer simulations of the star system, all displaying what seemed to Pavel a poor attempt at modern art.

"I took the liberty of extracting Ensign Whitten from sickbay under guard so she could explain the report herself," Sge greeted them. It was then that Pavel looked behind him at an oddly shadowy corner and saw Whitten, Nguyen, and two security officers standing in rigid silence. For a moment, Pavel was surprised that neither he nor Kirk had seen them when they first entered the back of the lab, but then he noted how tense and still they were. He must have looked right over them.

"I'd prefer it if in future you deferred to the CMO or I when making those kinds of decisions, though in all honesty I'm hoping there won't be a future for these kinds of incidents," Kirk said, shooting a significant sidelong glare at Ensign Whitten. It wasn't surprising that she stood there impassively, even if Nguyen was subtly signing for her. From what Pavel had heard, Whitten was never that expressive. The more Pavel looked at her, the more distant she seemed from the picture of the smiling girl Doctor McCoy had shown him a year ago on the shuttle ride to the Enterprise. That girl looked like a daughter, as far as that made sense; she looked sweet, like she looked up to someone. This girl, the one standing in the corner, seemed more apt to look down on someone. Despite the disparaging personalities, there was something in the face of both of them… the kindness of the picture and the edge to the eyes of the girl in the lab… it was so familiar… and so was the feeling that he was missing something; it was just like that feeling that he got on the shuttle a year ago and looked at that picture, that feeling of half remembering something he'd never actually learned in the first place-

Pavel almost jumped as the memory struck him. He'd been a guest lecturer at the smaller Academy campus in New York state; it was within the first month after Khan. In one of the largest lecture halls he'd ever been in, there was a girl on the fifth row on the right hand side. In retrospect, this girl was clearly McCoy's daughter, though he hadn't noticed the resemblance that first time seeing her. About halfway through she'd raised her hand and asked a question about energy conversion that took fifteen minutes to answer. It wasn't because the question had a particularly complicated answer, no; it was more because when he'd answered it everyone else in the hall had looked lost, including the professor. Pavel had to backtrack to find where everyone's prerequisite knowledge ended and then work his way forward, explaining a variety of complex concepts as concisely as possible. He'd been so impressed by the question that after the lecture Pavel had asked the instructor who the girl was.

"She's Joanna Whitten. Started early, kind of like you, but I think two or three years later. So, not much of a prodigy, but definitely a novelty. T'kao Sge – you remember him, right? He'll probably be going up on the Enterprise next year – he took an interest in her during her first year. Had Whitten doing projects with a few cadets who were graduating, and an Ensign or two who hadn't been deployed yet. She's always been a kind of off-the-wall, out-of-the-box thinker, but… I don't know what projects Sge has had her do, but they've had her asking some weird questions over the last couple of years. And whatever questions she's been asked, like on exams and such, usually get some pretty bizarre answers. They're not wrong, per se… actually, they're anything but wrong. It's just very rare when the right answer I expect and the right answer she gives are one and the same." The professor had then showed him a proof he'd had her do. It wasn't the generally accepted proof at all, despite the fact that it was very common. It was, however, a much easier stepping stone to some more advanced proofs of the same subject, as well as a few others. At the time, Pavel had thought he understood what the professor had been saying about the way her mind worked. What made her smart was not her answer or how quickly she got it, but how she got there.

Now, though, he realized he hadn't understood in the slightest. Looking at her report, watching the simulation Sge played, and listening to Nguyen recite Whitten's explanation was enough to convince Pavel that Ensign Joanna Whitten was certifiably insane.

The method she used was unorthodox, the math bizarre and difficult even for him to keep track of, and the conclusion was preposterous. Except, looking at the summation of the report, Pavel realized that there was quite literally no other explanation for the septenary star system. It wasn't a freak of nature; it truly was artificial, and Whitten had disproven every other alternate theory so thoroughly that there was no way for any respectable scientist to deny the theory.

"But how?" Kirk asked. "I mean, I get what you're saying about bent and moved space and all that stuff, but how does anyone even do that? And what kind of energy would that take?"

"Give me another hour and I might be able to tell you that," Nguyen interpreted, Whitten's hands flying. "But, from what I've observed, it is likely that there is a Dyson sphere or some equivalent around each of the stars. That would be enough to power the transporters I mentioned earlier, but as far as the rest of it goes, I think that there must be something on the planet that can continuously generate a huge amount of energy. What that is… I have an idea, but it's impossible unless they have red matter." Nguyen clammed up before shooting Whitten a warning look. Whitten's hands stilled and then she leveled her gaze at Nguyen, back stiffening. In that moment she looked so much like McCoy when he was pissed at Kirk that Pavel had to blink a few times. There were about five seconds of silence where hands and glares flew, but then Nguyen picked up interpreting. "It's probable the planet itself is being used as a generator, but I can't get any more specific until we get closer."

"So what you're saying is," Pavel said, and Nguyen began to interpret for Whitten, "that inside the planet there is a gigantic generator, and that – along with the seven Dyson spheres – produces enough energy to do all of this." Pavel waved his hands at the screens, where gravitational lines were folded over themselves and sections of space were severed and moved. "In order to create this artificial seven-star system, whose purpose no one can figure out, these massive amounts of energy are used to power multiple warp drives that continually bend the space between this single planet in the center of the system," Pavel pointed at the almost invisible dot near the middle of the screen, before gesturing to the surrounding gigantic circles, "and these stars. And in order to make this easier, the Dyson sphere around each star is used to power transporters that move a huge section of space from one side of the star – the side in the direction of the planet – to the other side. Is this about it? I'm sorry if I'm repeating what you said or messing something up, I'm just trying to make sense of it," Pavel said. After a moment Nguyen's hands stopped moving and Whitten stood with her head cocked to the side slightly. Then she nodded, gave a half smile and then turned to face Kirk, who had raised his hand like a kid in school.

"But why?" Kirk asked. "Why go to all this trouble to make a septenary," Kirk paused and nodded his head to himself, mouthing the word 'septenary.' He was probably checking if he got the pronunciation correct, though why he was taking the time to do that, Pavel had no idea. "Yeah, 'septenary' star system? What purpose does it serve to expend huge amounts of energy to just move stars around? And here's another question: Who exactly did this? What culture does this planet belong to? Is it inhabited?"

"Due to the levels of radiation the stars give off, anything living would have to reside underground," Sge interjected. "Because of this, our scanners have no way of determining whether there is anything living on that planet. It could just be a self-sustaining remnant of an advanced civilization, long passed. That is the theory I would support. A civilization advanced enough to make such a grand structure would have no difficulty in contacting us, especially since we are so close now." Sge paused and Pavel tried not to think of the signal that had been sent from the ship to the system. "So," Sge continued, "I would think they're long gone by now. As to the system's purpose, I would propose an away team made of experts on the system check the planet first for any sign of how it is powered or who is powering it. If they determine that there is still an existing culture on the planet, then we should establish an away team to make first contact. But as it is, I would not recommend sending, say, Lieutenant Uhura or yourself to the planet since there are so many unknown variables. As a matter of fact," Sge brought up another report on his PADD, this one apparently his. "I would say that it's likely the planet will be class H."

"So you want to send a team of technological experts to this presumably-uninhabitable-for-humans planet? That's ridiculous!" Kirk protested. Pavel glanced at him out of the corner of his eye and wondered if that was the only reason he didn't want to send anyone to there.

"From what can be determined while we're this far out, a radiation suit would be enough to keep an away team safe for about three and a half hours. If a suit failed you'd have a good half hour before any lasting damage was done," Sge said, swiping his finger across the screen of his PADD a few times before stopping and skimming a few lines in his report, probably double checking his memory.

"Oh. Well I guess that's more than enough time to beam out," Kirk said, nodding. He still looked a bit nauseated, though.

"Actually, Captain," Pavel spoke up, and everyone's heads swiveled to look at him. "I would not recommend using the transporter. There is so much warped and unusual space around the planet that it's likely the entire away team's atoms would end up scattered across the whole system, maybe farther." Pavel's stomach lurched as he thought about the equations that would have to be used to safely traverse the space between the Enterprise's destination just outside the system and the solitary, internal planet, so far away. With a shuttle the navigation would be difficult. With a transporter it would be dangerous and maybe even impossible.

"Okay, so it would be enough time to make it back to the shuttle, then," Kirk conceded. He seemed loathe to do even that. "We'll park the Enterprise just outside the system to avoid falling into any weird spacial anomalies and send in a smaller shuttle that can avoid the odd pocket of gravity that comes as a side effect of tearing the crap out of the fabric of space. Once they get to the planet they'll survey it for its intended purpose. Wait, how do we know this planet even has an atmosphere, much less a breathable one?" Kirk was grasping at straws now, trying to find a solid basis to overthrow the plan. Last resort would obviously be to outright deny anyone going through with it, but it would be easier to explain if he had a reason that everyone could know about, rather than the secret of the ILCA hack. Pavel began to wonder if their plan to root out the hackers was actually a good one or not.

"We don't know," Nguyen interrupted his thoughts, and Pavel noted that Nguyen was speaking for himself and not for Whitten the first time in the conversation. "But this will be no different from any other lowly irradiated planet that doesn't have an atmosphere. It's just a bit harder to get to."

"And could possibly be the remnant of an ancient and advanced society with ancient and advanced booby traps that could spring the second we get close to that hunk of rock," Kirk said. "Let me think on your plan and I'll let you know if we will go through with it. If we do, I'll ask that you have ready a list of people you'd recommend for the first away team." At Sge's hopeful look Kirk held up a hand. "That doesn't mean I'm leaning one way or the other about the plan. All it means is that _if_ we go through with it, I want you to be prepared." Sge nodded and Kirk whirled on his heel and strode out of the room. With one last look at Whitten, who was signing stiffly at Nguyen, Pavel started walking away.

At the edge of his hearing, Nguyen said in a hushed voice, "She's asking about star system, saying it's exactly like one of her projects at the Academy. She says it's almost like she designed it. What do I tell her?"

"The same thing I told you," Sge hissed. "Now keep your mouth shut."

Pavel tried to keep his walk at the same pace and make it seem like he hadn't heard, but when he reached the exit of the lab he couldn't help breaking into a sprint to catch up with Kirk. ' _Could this be the third of the troubles?'_ he wondered.

"Captain," Pavel said, "with all this new information, what are we going to do about Ilsa?" Ilsa was the code word they had come up with a year ago to talk about the ILCA hack where other people could possibly hear.

"I have a question about that…" Kirk said, almost jogging down the hall. "What did you think of Sge?"

"What about him, specifically?" Pavel asked, jumping onto the turbolift Kirk had just gotten on. The doors slid shut and Kirk jabbed the pause button. Pavel then understood the urgency in Kirk's pace; he'd been trying to make sure no one overheard them.

"Didn't he seem a bit, oh," Kirk bit his lip for a second before continuing, "shifty? No, not shifty. I guess it's just that he and Nguyen seemed like they were trying to tailor what Whitten said. Like they were talking over her or cutting her off, even though she wasn't talking. You know?" Pavel nodded, thinking of what he'd overheard and wondering what it meant, finally determining to bring it up in the meeting room so he wouldn't have to recount the story twice, however short it was. "I think we should keep an eye on him," Kirk said, hitting the pause button once again, and the lift ascended. "I think he may have something to do with Ilsa." Before the doors had slid all the way open and before Pavel could ask him what he meant by that, Kirk had already started forward; Pavel was ready for his breakneck pace this time, though and stayed right next to him the entire way back to the meeting room.

Destination in sight, Kirk asked, "That aside, what do you think of Whitten and her impossible artificial star system?"

"She's right about the system," Pavel replied, trailing off.

"And?" Kirk prodded, almost to the meeting room's door.

"And," Pavel huffed, "I think if there's a fine line between genius and insanity, she's tap dancing on it."

-0-

 **This chapter is nine pages long and over 5,400 words. That's a record for this story. *showers of confetti* This chapter was a bear to write, but I feel like the finished product is pretty good.**

 **There was a lot of information packed in there, alongside some thickening plot. Just wait until next time…** ** _Muahahahaha_** **. Chapter might be as long, might not, but I can** ** _almost_** **guarantee some important stuff will happen.**


	25. Chapter 25: Dense

**Buckle in. It's short, but it's dense.**

-0-

Chapter 25: Dense

"Okay, explain it to me one more time," Hikaru said. He sat on the table's edge, harsh lights giving his hair an almost blue tint to match the glowing screens covering every available surface. Pavel had used as many diagrams and metaphors as he could think of, but still everyone wanted the star system explained a different way. For the fourth time in twenty minutes, Pavel rubbed under his eyes where deep purple bruises seemed tattooed. One good night of sleep would not offset a year of insomnia.

Hikaru had come into the room about five minutes after McCoy. The doctor had stormed out muttering to himself about Joanna Whitten, about halfway through the first of the four different explanations so far. Pavel had done most of the talking; Kirk only jumped in to provide certain details that he considered important, though rarely would Pavel use that adjective for Kirk's commentary. Impish, maybe. But not important.

Pavel stifled a groan in the back of his throat, wondering whether it would be too much to ask for there to be a red alert. There were so many, would one more really be that hard? Just to make everyone shut up for once? No one except Spock seemed to really _comprehend_ the concepts and as much as Pavel had enjoyed his stint as visiting professor, the students he had taught had a very good reason to be asking questions. That being: they were supposed to be learning stuff for the first time. The crew of the Enterprise, on the other hand, had no such excuse. He didn't care how complex the system was, making him explain it four – no, five times, now that he had to do it again – was too much.

He tapped the screen of the PADD in front of him and it saved the diagram he had drawn up, alongside the computer generated ones that had come with Whitten's and Sge's reports. Scotty, Spock, and Uhura all glanced down at the screens embedded in the table as Pavel cleared them, as well. He could hook up his PADD to all their screens or each one individually to bring up diagrams he thought they might need. Kirk lounged on a chair across the room with his PADD in one hand, and Hikaru perched on the edge of the table, PADD on his lap, though it kept sliding off every few seconds. His constant shifting and grumbling was clearly starting to set Brooke's teeth on edge, who sat in the chair beside him and twitched every time Hikaru's clothes so much as rustled. Brooke wasn't really supposed to be in there, but had ended up staying after Nyota insisted.

"This," Pavel huffed, "is the star system." He pulled up the bare bones digital simulation that only had the planetary and stellar bodies involved and none of the free body diagram, gravitational, or magnetic field lines. "And this," he sighed, "is the planet in the middle of the star system." He drew his fingers across the image and the planet was suddenly taking up the entire screen instead of just a single pixel. He had done that so often now that he could pick out where each integral part of the explanation was and zoom in on it without looking at the screen. Before continuing he flicked the screen back out to show the whole system, all seven stars included. "What I am about to show you is the free body diagram for this system. That is, I am going to show you using vectors the direction and amount of each force acting on each of the objects you see." He knew no one in the room needed that particular explanation, especially not Spock, but Pavel had decided early on that over explaining was far better than under explaining. He tapped the necessary button and large white arrows popped up on everyone's screens. "Now, you see, when you move the camera around in the simulated space, all of these bodies have large amounts of force acting on them. Just based on these calculations alone, every one of these stars should be speeding off to the-" he reset everyone's screen so they were looking at it from the same angle he was "-right, toward the big star, System Star Alpha."

"Yeah, about that," Kirk drawled from his seat by the window. "Can we give this thing – the system – a name? I mean, not just some kind of number thing, which it already has but is stupid, so we're not going to use it… Like, a name?" He glanced around the room, happy as a clam, and swiveled his chair back and forth for no apparent reason.

Pavel blinked at him and gaped at the ridiculous diversion.

A bizarre system almost at their feet, a mysterious message from an unknown saboteur, and Jim Kirk wanted to give the star system that was the root of all their problems some dumb nickname!

"How about… Star System Ferret! In honor of Enter, may he rest in peace. Or, uh…" Kirk pondered for a moment, but when he took a deep breath to exhale more drivel into the room Spock blessedly stepped in.

"If conventions are to be observed, Ensign Whitten will give the system a colloquial designation, assuming it is uninhabited," at Kirk's pitiful look – also a pitiful attempt at preserving a positive atmosphere, Pavel suddenly realized – Spock continued, "However it would be beneficial to have a shorter name for the system, so as to expedite the process of-"

"Clip!" Pavel exclaimed, eyes flicking away from Nyota's hair. "The system's name is Clip! Now if you would _please_ ," Pavel entreated, "let me finish this?" Kirk was suitably chastised and Pavel thanked his lucky stars that Nyota was wearing that pearl clip and he had seen it in time to cut off Spock. Who knows how long that conversation could have gone on? ' _Of course, it could be a pearl hair_ pin _, in which case I don't know what I'm talking about. Which makes sense_ ,' Pavel thought. He was not exactly an expert on hair accessories.

"In any case," Pavel continued, "I'm talking about Clip Alpha, the largest star. While all of these stars are main sequence stars, Clip Alpha is by far the largest. While the other six are yellow stars, slightly less in mass than our Sun, Clip Alpha is very close on the HR diagram to being a blue giant, though it doesn't quite make the cut. In any event, since Alpha is so much larger than the other six stars, and they are so close together, it would be expected that they all would have collided by now and wiped out basically anything around it. There can be stars in systems, but never this many, and never this close together because what happens is they collide and create a massive supernova." Pavel paused and wondered if he switched topics now, whether or not it would be too big of a leap.

' _Probably_ ,' he concluded and forged onward with his current topic.

"In binary star systems, the stars will orbit each other. Even though there are too many high mass objects close together here to create a constant orbit – at least one that doesn't deteriorate as soon as it is formed – we would at least expect motion from these objects. But there is none. That's perhaps the biggest indicator that the system is artificial. Regardless of how this was created and powered," Pavel said, and Scotty held up a hand. Pavel pointed at him and held up a finger, just hoping Scotty would actually let him finish the sentence. "The fundamentals of its formation remain the same. Whoever made this is somehow counteracting all of the forces that are acting on these stars to pull them out of place… by pulling them out of place. These stars had to come from somewhere – it takes too long to make a star for those to be created artificially – and so they must have already been in systems and then pulled from them. For example, I believe that stars Delta and Beta were once in a binary system with each other, but the gravity is so muddled it's hard to say for certain. Yes?" Pavel asked Scotty, who had shockingly waited for his turn to be called on.

"Never mind, you answered my question," Scotty said, grinning.

Pavel nodded once and continued, "For some reason, someone wanted all these stars in a specific place and to _stay_ in that same place. So, they were pulled from their previous positions in preexisting systems to create this oddly compact, immobile system. As I said, it doesn't matter how small the stars are, you normally would not find a system with stars this close together because their gravity at that distance wouldn't allow for an orbit, just a collision course. The bit I said about the system being 'immobile' leads us to believe that outside forces are involved, other than the ones with a clear source, such as gravity. But, the gravity we see in this system… well," Pavel brought up a diagram he hadn't before. He'd been afraid it would muddle an already confused conversation. "It's just weird."

Scotty gave a low whistle from his corner of the table. "That right there," he pronounced, "looks like a web from a long legged spider on methamphetamines." And so it did, though why the spider had to be long legged, Pavel couldn't say. Sinuous lines curved sharply across the screen, doubling back over themselves and turning at odd angles to form a muddled mass of thin white lines; if viewed from the right angle, it almost looked like the screen was shattered.

"These, uh, _unusual_ gravitational fields are – we believe – caused by a warp drive." Pavel paused for a moment and let that sink in. "Or, something very like a warp drive." Pavel paused yet again, trying to figure out how to make a bridge to his next topic. "Objects cannot travel above light speed. Plus, when you go at speeds approaching light, your clock relative to the clock of your destination and departure point are severely skewed. To get around this, we use warp. Warp is when we essentially fold and poke a hole through space to travel instantaneously from one point to another without bothering with the intervening distance. This solves the relative time problem and the light speed problem in one fell swoop. Different warp speeds just indicate how much space is warped with one punch. After exiting a warp, the space is released and allowed to go back to its natural state, healing the hole almost instantly. In this case, in this system, someone or something is using a machine with the same properties as a warp drive to fold the space between these stars and bring them closer together. That's what you see here," Pavel circled a few of the more prominent loops in the gravitational field in red and watched as the same red circles appeared on everyone else's screens. "These are very large warps in space. Now, you see the problem is-"

"The star's gravity can't tell the difference between the warped space and the newly established space, so its field is distributed both along the old lines, that are now bent out of shape, and the new lines between the planets, which look normal, but way too close together and are therefore more powerful" Hiakru finished. Brooke winced at the volume his voice took on and seemed to be confused. "Finally!" Hikaru continued, "Okay, this time, the way you described it made sense. The last two times-"

"Four," Pavel grumbled and Hikaru looked a bit sheepish.

"The last four times," he acquiesced, "it didn't make sense. Thank you for actually speaking Standard this time around."

"Right, so," Pavel said, "one of those things you just said is a very good point. The new lines are stronger. They're much stronger than the old ones, even if they weren't all confused. The reason is because gravity is affected by distance. The total force of gravity between two objects is equal to the gravitational constant multiplied by the mass of both objects, divided by the distance between them squared. So, let's say the distance between two objects is one. If those objects were three times as far away from each other, then the gravity would be one ninth the original. If they were half as far away from each other as the original distance of one, then the gravity would be four times as strong as the original. If those two objects were separated by one fourth of the original distance, then the gravity between them would be _sixteen_ times as strong as the original." Pavel brought up a second theoretical star map, this one with uncertainties marked out in yellow; he then brought it side by side with the image of the current configuration of the star system, and wiped off the circles, gravitational fields, and the free body diagram vectors.

"On the left," Pavel recited, "is the system as it is now. On the right you'll see the theoretical map of where we think the stars were originally, before they were moved. What is odd but ideal about these stars is that they're incredibly isolated. There are shockingly few stars and little to no stellar gas and dust around them, which is odd, so this would simplify the process of bringing these stars closer together. One thing that I should note is that gravity bends space. We've all seen those diagrams of space bent around planets or of theoretical gravity wells. Well, because the gravity between those stars is now larger because of the decreased distance, that means the space between them is even more bent than it would be, even without the maintained warp. So, it is, as I said significantly stronger." Pavel eyed one of the chairs farther down the table; what he wouldn't give to just plop in one and repeated hit his head on the table out of frustration. "To sum up, the gravity is-"

"Royally effed up?" Nyota suggested. Everyone in the room whipped around to stare at her incredulously and even Brooke raised his eyebrows at the source of her voice, but Nyota just shrugged. "What? The purpose of a large vocabulary is to accurately communicate or describe. And I did. I see nothing wrong with my terminology." It was well known on the Enterprise that Nyota rarely cursed, and when she did it was in a language no one around her knew. Although, Pavel had once heard her let slip a few words in Russian that turned his ears pink. "Effed up" was simply tame by comparison.

"Okay," Kirk sighed from his chair by the window. "That's enough of that for right now. We've got an hour 'til we get to the system. I say we rest our heads for five minutes and then reconvene to explain the rest of it. What do you think, Pavel?" Kirk asked.

Pavel nodded. He needed a break so he could go hit his head against a bare bit of wall somewhere. The more often he had to explain System Clip (a stupid, but necessary name) the more he felt he was toeing the line of insanity right next to Joanna Whitten.

-0-

 **Don't worry Pavel. I'm right there with you.**

 **I'm sorry I lied about the important stuff in the last end author's note. (Wasn't a lie. Just didn't know how long this would take.) This chapter doesn't have much to do with the plot, but it was necessary background information for what happens next. No worries, though! There's just a bit more science-y slogging to do in the next chapter before things actually start to move.**

 **Besides, all of this science warp crap has to take a lot of energy, doesn't it? How's it powered?**

 **I know how. (I have to. I'm the author.)**

 **But do they know how? If someone does, who? *laughs maniacally while running into the distance***


	26. Chapter 26: Golden

**This chapter is not what I promised, but… oh well.**

-0-

Chapter 26: Golden

Kirk knuckled the bags under his eyes and tried to remember the last time he'd gotten some decent rest, the beginnings of a headache knocking on the inside of his skull. It took him a moment to remember that it was only the night before that he'd slept, but so much had happened since then it felt more like ages had passed. With his eyes closed, the room smelled like warm metal and stale water, as much as water could smell like anything. When he was little he'd often forget his thermos, leaving it in the sun on hot days, and the water would bake – as much as water could bake – in the metal container. When he finally drank it, the taste and smell was metallic and stale and disconcertingly warm to boot. The meeting room called to mind those memories, gratefully guzzling warm water just because the summer heat wouldn't allow for anything else and because he had been nine, so why the hell not?

Before Pavel had begun explaining what they'd learned in the lab, Kirk had dimmed the lights slightly; the glare had been getting on his nerves. The result was that the blue screens all over the room gave the light a cooler feel, but the yellow lights of the ceiling a warm, dim ambience.

Altogether it was like sitting outside at dusk in the summer; cool, but with the heat of the sun not yet forgotten, still radiating off the asphalt. There was the smell of hot water, warm metal, and grass filling his nose, the breeze just strong enough to bring him a whiff of churned up dirt that gave off the odor of rain, even though it hadn't so much as drizzled in two weeks.

He lost himself in the memories; running through sparse woods with underbrush of thorns, vines with teeth tearing at his ankles. He had ignored it though, always had. There was adventure to be found in the woods, whatever his mom said; small treasures to be found in the bed of a dried-up stream, where the only water was a puddle under the Big, Old Tree where a snake lived. Or rather, where he had thought a snake must live, since there was such a large hole in the trunk above that puddle. Along the stream bed he would run, kicking up dust instead of sprays of water, until he reached the Big, Old Tree. There he would stop and edge to the other bank – or what had been a bank before – and then sidle along, the dirt from the side leaving yellow streaks on the back of his shirt. Had anyone ever asked, if anyone had ever thought to ask, he would have said that he went right up to the roots of the Big, Old Tree, right where they hung over the edge of the tiny ravine, falling to the bank and the river of dust below. He would have said he saw the snake and it hissed at him before slithering away. He had never seen the snake, though; had never heard it hiss, either. He just edged along the opposite bank until he was well on from the Big, Old Tree and then ran, the smell of hot dirt in his nose.

He'd keep running, too, until sunset. Then he would turn and race the sun to the horizon. He didn't care about the red glare in his eyes, he just wanted to win; sometimes he would even forget about the Big, Old Tree until he was already far past it. So wrapped up in running, he'd fly past it and its invisible snake, on into the sun beyond the horizon. Inevitably though, he would stop. Whether he won the race or not, he'd skid to a halt, just beyond his thermos; sometimes he'd be going so fast his shoes would kick up that little bit of wet Earth, deep below the dust. He'd pick up the metal thermos, nestled in the tall, brown grass, and brush off the bugs before taking a sip of hot water, tinged with the aftertaste of nickel. Behind him he would hear the cars trundle past, old ones with wheels and gasoline, a punch of wavering asphalt and refined oil blasting away the smell of dust and wet earth at his feet. As the last red of sunset lit his hair, he'd turn, his face half in shadow, and walk toward the road, sneakers pulling up weeds along the way.

How many days had he reveled in the smell of earth and dust, brought home by the smell of hot water and metal? Days not beyond count, but certainly beyond measure; he remembered well the eternity spent in that ravine, just a little dry dip in the ground. The bed of a stream that wasn't; the dust, a memory of what once was.

In the dusk he'd find his home, little golden windows on brown on black on blue; the sky fading fast to darkness. He'd grip his water bottle tight and walk in the door of white wood with cream lace curtains framing a yellow sun of stained glass, and his mother would shake her head. In the summer, she would always have to do more wash. The dust looked brown in the dusty light of home, but soon, with the taste of warm, metallic water still in his mouth, he'd find himself clean. The only dirt left was a small smidgen behind his ear he never managed to get off. His mother would give him a glass of apple juice that was cool, but not quite enough to take away that taste of hot metal. His muscles would ache from his run and the taste of nickel never quite left him, not for hours to come, as he lay in bed and looked at the dim, grey ceiling. He'd wonder what he would find the next day, if perhaps there were places not yet treaded in that ravine, that perhaps held untapped treasures. The window open, he'd listen to the breeze, and when it died, just for a moment, he'd relish in the stillness and the quiet blanketing the world.

Kirk's eyes creaked open, as slowly as they ever had on those warm, sleepy mornings that followed. Before him he did not see his room, with an open window letting in shafts of golden light; he saw the meeting room, plain and dim, olive accents on the chairs standing out against the dull grey. Darkened windows blocked the sight of stars. A lifeless room against that sunlit backdrop of childhood.

His life had never been the easiest. There were dark patches and grim ones, but when he looked back on those yellow afternoons and red dusks and blue evenings, he could smile and forget the uncertain present.

His headache was back, though, even without its cause present.

Bones.

In the empty room, Kirk began to wonder about his options on that front. He knew Bones was at least partially right; loathe though Kirk was to say it. Had Ensign Joanna Whitten been anyone else, best case scenario he would have taken them off the project and stuck them in their room, siccing Spock and Pavel on the problem instead. Worst case, he would have thrown the rabble-rousing ensign in the brig.

He just couldn't do it, though, no more than he could throw Bones in the brig.

' _But why not?_ ' he asked himself, and before he knew what was happening he was out of his chair and moving to the door. ' _Why can't I treat her like anyone else_?' She was harsh, unforgiving. She was aggressive and violent. She was poised in her rule-breaking and confident.

Trudging down the hall, Kirk thought of the walk over to Med Bay earlier that afternoon.

 _Emily Clearwood tripped over her own feet for the third time in about forty seconds. '_ That's probably not a good response to stress for someone in security, _' Kirk thought, and glanced over to Ensign Mores and Nurse Aarons to see how they were doing. No better, by all accounts. Both seemed to be trembling, though Mores seemed to be more furious than fearful; that was Aarons' schtick, hands shaking, even as he tucked them under his arms to hide them from the captain's all seeing eyes._

 _'_ Not quite all seeing _,' Kirk berated himself. '_ If they were, I would have nipped this the first time it happened. _' He hadn't though, and now he was stuck beside a seething CMO who seemed equally close to hauling Joanna to his office for a talking to and a time out, as he was to whirling on his heel and punching Mores in his already bleeding face. Sulu had done the smart thing and put Kirk between himself and the fuming CMO._

 _Finally, Kirk turned his gaze to little Miss Joanna Whitten. She walked calmly, one foot in front of the other, no missteps and no shaking. She didn't seem to have picked up Bones' habit of pulling on the hem and sleeves of her shirt, though that could have something to do with her (most likely) dislocated shoulder. Her right arm sat motionless in a perfect ninety-degree angle, held in place by her left hand and forearm. Kirk had dislocated his shoulders before – both of them at least once, as a matter of fact – and he knew when you moved it, it hurt like the god of pain and suffering had descended from his/her/their lofty perch and had taken up tap dancing… and only did it on the tendons that connected the shoulder to the upper arm and elbow._

 _Basically, it hurt like hell._

 _But not only was Joanna bearing it, she moved like it hadn't even happened. Kirk had discovered during his many different injuries, that not moving the affected area of the body did not necessarily mean you were home free on the pain front. Once when he had a separated shoulder – a totally different injury than a dislocated shoulder, by the by – he had discovered that even turning from the waist down was enough to send waves of lightning through his collarbone, neck, and shoulder. And yet, there mini-McCoy was, gliding along like it was a normal day and she was holding her arm in place because she wanted to, thank you ever so much for asking. Joanna gave seemingly no concession to the pain. It was like she was robotic. Like she was programmed that way._

"… Like she was being forced to," Kirk murmured aloud, and then jumped at the sound of his own voice.

"You alright, Captain Kirk?" Kater asked from directly in front of him, and Kirk jumped again, yelping this time.

"Yeah, great. Never better! You just startled me," Kirk snapped and slid to the side. When did Kater get there? And how did he not even notice? All of a sudden Kirk felt like he was being stabbed in his right temple. His hand snapped up of its own accord, and he had to clamp his teeth down around a groan.

"Captain!" Kater exclaimed. He leaned down – had he always been that tall? – and peered into Kirk's eyes. "Are you sure you're alright? Should I get Doctor McCoy?"

"No, no. I was on my way to medical anyway. Just need something for a headache. If you'll excuse me," Kirk replied before rushing off down the hall. It took another moment before he realized that Med Bay was actually just two hallways away. Zoned out as he had been, it seemed he had unconsciously been navigating to go see Bones anyway.

Beyond the headache, Kirk didn't really know why he wanted to go there, but he knew there was something up. Something about Joanna Whitten he hadn't really seen before.

Bones, when he had abandoned the star system Clip meeting, had said something about talking to her. Maybe he had some insight by now.

When Kirk finally reached Med Bay "tense" would have been the gentle description for both himself and the three people in the room. Anyone who could escape had done so, including most of the on-duty nurses, who claimed to be restocking the two clinics near engineering and the crew's quarters. Thankfully Nurse Frost was nowhere to be seen; she was usually on duty around this time and the woman got on Kirk's nerves with a deftness that amazed. Sometimes he felt like he was cheese and she was a grater; almost like being annoying as possible was her sole purpose in life.

All remaining on duty nurses appeared to be in their offices, but in the back of the room huddled Aaron Aarons (poor kid; what a name!), Emily Clearwood, and Benjamin Mores, all looking like it was their turn at the gallows. Kirk didn't know what he was going to do about those three; the reports had been consistent, so he knew that Joanna had started it, not them, so he could hardly give them a more severe punishment than her. But, he also couldn't let them off entirely, which was a bit difficult since Joanna was getting off pretty lightly for the time being.

Kirk, huffing out a sigh and wondering why he had to make life harder for himself, marched across the room, almost like that was why he had gone to Med Bay in the first place. He couldn't make them stand there all day, not when all indications showed that this mission would not be "just routine." All three straightened when they saw him, shoulders going back and chins going up. Kirk's heel squeaked on the smooth floor and all three jumped at the sudden noise; Aarons chuckled nervously.

"You are all free to return to your duties," Kirk said. "When not on a shift or acting in the case of an emergency, I want you to remain in your cabins at all times until I, Commander Spock, or Doctor McCoy follow up with you. Is that clear?" Kirk asked. They all nodded, but what caught Kirk's attention was the _woosh_ of an opening door.

"Yes, sir."

Kirk didn't notice which one of them had spoken; over Emily's shoulder he had caught sight of Bones just exiting his office, Joanna sitting in a chair in Bones' office. The door closed before Kirk could see any more than that.

"Good. Dismissed." Barely glancing at them as they trooped past toward the door at the front of Med Bay, Kirk instead slid to the back where McCoy was waiting.

"Bones!" Kirk tried to smile, but it didn't work; his headache was making itself known, tugging on his optic nerve and punching the back of his eyes. Bones, much to his credit, didn't even blink at Kirk's wince, instead backtracking to a small, white cabinet where he rustled out two hypos.

"Migraine or just a headache?" he asked. Two seemingly identical hypos in each hand, Bones flourished the one in his right when Kirk grumbled, "Headache."

"All right," Bones said, prepping the hypo. "This might sting."

"Might sting? Might?" Jim protested, tilting his head to expose his neck regardless. "They always sting! You give me hypos like – OW! – you're trying to get that stuff all the way down to my bone marrow!" Rubbing his neck, Kirk stepped away and watched as Bones turned back to the cabinet, rummaging around some more while sticking the two hypos in their places with just a bit more force than necessary.

"Huh…" echoed out from the cabinet.

"'Huh', what?" Kirk asked, trying to peer around Bones' head.

"That broken tricorder I found is usually in this cabinet, but it's not here anymore." Bones straightened, only narrowly avoiding cracking his head on the top of the cupboard, and glanced around Med Bay. "Maybe Frost is finally fixing it."

"Frost fixing it? Why don't you let Scotty at it?" Kirk stepped back across the gleaming white floor, closely followed by Bones.

"Because it gives her a hobby and something to do when she's bored so she doesn't bother me, even if it's been broken since we got on this ship," Bones said lowly. Almost growling, he continued, "That woman is a hyena, I swear, Jim. When she's not smirking, she's laughing, and when she's not doing either of those she's doing her best to make my life a living hell! Stop laughing!" he protested. "It's not funny."

"Yeah, sure it isn't," Kirk snickered. "I find no humor in your misery. That's why I'm not actually laughing right now."

"No, you're just giggling like a little kid," Bones grumbled.

"Hey, speaking of little kids," Kirk started and Bones groaned. Loudly.

"Don't you _dare_ -"

"About Miss Joanna-"

"Jim, shut up," Bones barked at the ceiling, before striding off to the side, fiddling with some equipment that had absolutely no need for recalibrations.

"How's that conversation been going?" Kirk finally asked, sidling up to Bones' side. Rolling his eyes, Bones shoved the counter, immobile though it was, and stomped in the other direction. When Kirk finally caught up McCoy glared at him with the fury of a thousand star-system Clips.

"Oh, just _great_ , Jim!" Bones announced in an obnoxiously high falsetto, stomping over to a biobed. It was a good thing Med Bay was empty or else he would never live it down. "That's why I'm in _such_ a _good_ _mood_!"

McCoy stripped an apparently clean bio bed in one quick motion.

"We've been having some _fabulous_ father daughter bonding time."

The sheets and pillow went flying across the room to land in an unobtrusive hamper in the corner.

"And she's been telling me _all_ her deepest, darkest secrets."

Bones snatched a folded sheet from a high shelf with one hand and then unfurled it with a sharp snap.

"We sat down to have _tea and cookies_ with _Spock_!"

The sheet had hardly settled on the bed when down came a pillow, followed swiftly by a pillow case.

"And they had a _cheerful_ and _lively_ debate about the definition of _daddy issues_."

The pillow was in the case and on the bed in one swift motion, a dull thump all that indicated it hadn't been resting on the bio bed that entire time.

"And then they _square danced_ around my desk."

Bones jammed the sheet's corners under the stiff mattress.

"And then _pranced_ off, into the _sunset_."

Bones collapsed onto the bio bed, wrinkling the crisp sheets and skewing the pillow. "She hasn't lifted a goddamn finger, Jim," he sighed, dropping his face into his hands. "What do you expect?" Bones mumbled. There was a brief second of absolute silence before Kirk broke it.

"Come back to the meeting room," he said.

"What?" Bones asked, looking up. "Why?"

"Just come back," Kirk replied. "Maybe a little bit of peace and quiet will be enough for Joanna to rethink telling us about what's going on here." Bones examined him with the practiced gaze that only he could achieve before pausing, almost rolling the words he was going to say around in his mouth.

"What do you think she has to do with the…. With Elsa?" Bones asked. Just because there was no one in Med Bay didn't mean no one could hear them talk about the ILCA hack. Joanna was only a door away in Bones' office, after all.

"I don't know. I have… I don't know. It's more of a feeling than a thought. But the timing, and the walking, and the-"

"The _walking_?" Bones raised his eyebrows. "What does walking have to do with anything?"

"It's just a feeling, okay?" Kirk insisted. "Just get Chapel to cover your shift and come to the meeting."

"Fine. I'll be there in a few minutes."

-0-

 **SANGUINE IS NOW OFFICIALLY LONGER THAN HARRY POTTER AND THE PHILOSOPHER'S STONE! (Yes, I know some of that is author's notes. Don't harsh my buzz, okay?)**

 **(And Harry Potter book one has 76,944 words, according to the internet, in case anyone is interested)**

 **Yep.**

 **I might have gone a bit overboard. But I LIKE IT!**

 **I'm aware this isn't the chapter I promised… But that'll come soon.**

 **Personally, I think House of Gold by twenty one pilots would be a good song for reboot Kirk. Well, maybe not 'good' per se, but…. Yeah. It's not what inspired the first part of this chapter, but when I reread the beginning of this while editing I thought of House of Gold, went and listened to it again in the context of Kirk, especially in this story and the reboot, and decided 'yeah, that's a nice fit for him.'**


	27. Chapter 27: Hypothetical

**Welcome, welcome! With this we return to the realm of royally-effed-up-gravity-ville!**

 **Enjoy your stay. Try not to get torn apart or squished.**

-0-

Chapter 27: Hypothetical

Pavel paced in the hall, trying to keep his head on straight. He felts like his brain was trying to pummel its way out from behind his eyes, and every second it was getting closer to succeeding; he closed his eyes and rubbed at his eyelids with the heel of his hand. If he had to drone on about this system much longer, even he would get tired of hearing his own voice. ' _Just a little while longer_ ,' he kept telling himself. ' _Just a little more, and then we can start planning_.'

Still pacing in circles with his hands over his eyes, Pavel thought about what he had covered so far and what he had not. ' _Okay, talked about the weird gravity. Talked about the warp. Talked about moving the stars. Did NOT talk about the transporters that helped move the space in between the stars. That won't take too long, though. Did NOT talk about what I overheard in the lab. Did NOT ask about the signal coming from the system or how the decoding is doing_.'

Pausing mid trudge, Pavel took his hands from his eyes and opened them.

And then jumped about a foot in the air when he realized he was standing right in front of a person who was very distinctly green.

"Kater!" Pavel exclaimed, before laughing thinly. "I didn't see you there."

"You had your eyes closed," Kater replied, shifting his stance and crossing his arms over his chest. Almost as an afterthought, he gave a half smile to Pavel. It looked wrong on his face, like it was just taped on over a frown.

"Right, yes, uh," Pavel cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his head as he craned his neck to look at Kater's face. Had Kater always been that tall? "Sorry about that – almost running into you, I mean – but did you need something? Were you looking for Hikaru?" Pavel was sure he hadn't been this short by comparison the last time he and Kater had talked.

"Yeah, actually. We had lunch plans after the party, but then the fight happened, and then his communicator blinked and he said he had to go do something… You guys have been in there a while. And I heard Captain Kirk say he was going to Med Bay to get something for a headache. Am I… allowed to know the issue?" Kater inquired, leaning over slightly, his shadow falling over Pavel's face.

"No, no. What I mean is there there's no issue," Pavel took a faltering step back, wondering if it was just his nerves that made Kater seem so… _present_. "Just debriefing about the star system. Trying to sort some stuff out." It was only a little white lie, and it was at least partly true, but Kater's stare was making it very hard to keep a straight face. Pavel didn't quite know why, though; Kater blinked less than other people. It was a known fact. And Pavel had gotten used to it months ago after some very enjoyable dinners with Kater and Hikaru. Kater had always been nice, and that not blinking thing really wasn't _that_ weird. ' _I guess it really must be my nerves_ ,' Pavel thought, and tried to stamp out a creeping bubble of anxiety in his chest.

"Well, alright then. Do you know where Hikaru is? Thought I'd just say hi… and I feel a bit like complaining, honestly. Cabin fever is a real nuisance. What about you?" Kater asked, leaning back just enough that Pavel felt at least a little bit closer to his actual height.

"Yeah. Cabin fever, same here," Pavel coughed and pointed down the hallway to his right. "I think Hikaru went that way, but I'm not sure. He won't have long, though; we're reconvening in a few minutes."

"Sure, sure," Kater waved a noncommittal hand before stepping around Pavel who was frozen in the middle of the hall. "Guess I'll see you around. You sure there's not a problem? You look pretty shaken."

"There's no problem," Pavel protested weakly. Kater stared at him out of the corner of his eye; though the light in the hall was warm, it cast odd shadows on Kater's face and made Pavel blink a few times. Kater was well muscled and would never be called gaunt by anyone, but for a moment the shadows made his face seem like a skull, with hollow cheekbones and deep, dark eye sockets.

"If you say so. Is Hikaru going to be in the same state you and the captain are, though? Should I be worried?" Kater asked, already backing down the hall. For a moment Pavel was distracted by a flash of blue on the loop of Kater's belt and blinked in surprise at the medical tricorder that hung there. Pavel glanced back up at Kater's face and saw him peering at Pavel expectantly.

"No." Pavel managed a firm tone, and hid his surprise at his own voice well enough that Kater seemed at least partially convinced. "I told you everything's fine."

' _But_ ,' Pavel wondered, ' _why does he have a medical tricorder?_ ' Kater shrugged and turned to go, striding out of sight before Pavel could let out another shaky breath. It was a few minutes before that surge of anxiety died down again.

Nyota came around and corner and approached, gripping his arm for a moment when she paused next to him; she smiled when she moved on, and said, "Come on. I just saw the captain go back in the room; it's time to get back. And don't worry, I know it's frustrating to explain over and over, but you're doing great!" Pavel just nodded wordlessly and made himself plaster a smile on his face for a brief second before Nyota turned around walked off.

' _Where did that anxiety come from?_ ' he wondered, following Nyota back into the meeting room. ' _Kater's nice! And he didn't say anything threatening… or even act like it! I mean, he was actually just concerned. What is wrong with me?_ ' he wondered, before realizing he staring blankly at the wall in front of him.

"Earth to Pavel," Hikaru laughed. "What's up? You okay?" he asked. Hikaru didn't seem too worried about Pavel's mental state, though, so Pavel had to assume that Kater didn't say anything.

"No, um, I'm great. Kater was looking for you earlier. Did you see him?" Pavel asked, snatching up his abandoned PADD from the tabletop. Hikaru only raised an eyebrow while Pavel frantically pulled up all of his diagrams on the available screens.

"Huh? Kat? Yeah, I talked to him." Hikaru was on the verge of asking another question – probably one that Pavel did not feel like answering – when Doctor McCoy strode into the room. The doctor grumbled to himself, scuffing his feet on the floor and not looking anyone in the eye.

"Hiya, Bones," Kirk chirped from his chair by the window. "Glad you could make it." McCoy shot a pointed look at Kirk from across the room. If glares could cause spontaneous combustion, Kirk would be a smoking pile of ash where he sat, nothing left behind but a little bit of soot. Kirk, for all his defiance of death and humor in the face of danger, decided it was better not to press that particular button again; a wise move, based on McCoy's seething expression. Kirk swiveled in his chair to face Pavel instead. "What have you got for us this time?"

"Well, for this I think Mr. Scott would like to explain the… minutiae. It has more to do with…. Well, you'll know in a minute," Pavel sighed, and switched to the diagram with just the stars and planet. "This time, instead of gravity, we need to talk about the space involved. The thing is, when studying the gravitational fields that exist along the folded areas of the space within the system, Ensign Whitten noted that there is some… missing distance compared to her theoretical map of where the stars were originally. All the other math worked out based on the forces we observe now, but not the distance." Pavel saw Nyota flick her eyes right, to where McCoy hunched over a screen embedded in the table. It took a moment, but Pavel finally heard what had caught her attention; Doctor McCoy was growling, deep and low in his throat. Pavel didn't stop to question why – the answer was clear; Ensign Whitten's involvement – or how – Pavel really didn't care to know – and forged onward. "We think that these…. People… whoever or whatever they are, used something comparable to Mr. Scott's transwarp beaming equation to-"

"No, laddy," Scotty announced. Pavel cut himself off abruptly, turning bright red all the way up to his hairline. No one saw, though, since all eyes had turned to Scotty at the back end of the table, where he continued to say, "That's where you're wrong. The way the math works out, it is the exact same equation. No question about it. They used _the_ transwarp beaming equation to move an entire section of space." Scotty clucked his tongue before adjusting himself in his chair to lean over the table's edge, _tsking_ the room at large for no apparent reason. After a moment of consideration in the otherwise silent room (McCoy's growling had abated by then) Scotty picked up with, "The way normal beaming works is that it takes a pattern of molecules, disassembles it into its component energy, and then reassembles it in its destination. Of course, this gets complicated over large distances, while moving at high speeds in the same frame of reference as your destination, or sending that energy and molecular pattern through certain materials. Transwarp beaming is a little more complicated – I won't bore you with the details – but, suffice to say that it does quite a bit more than regular beaming." Scotty paused and squinted at the PADD in front of him before looking back up. He looked far more tired than he had earlier, almost exhausted, and Pavel thought ruefully of the pancakes in the kitchen. He hoped someone had seen them and put them in the fridge.

"Transwarp beaming," Scotty continued, "was an equation originally designed to provide a way to beam from one ship to another while one or both are traveling at warp. However, it does have more interesting and varied applications. Our good friend Kahn who's taking _an ice_ nap right now – that was an intentional auditory pun, by the way; say it out loud quickly if you don't believe me – used the transwarp beaming equation to beam himself onto the Klingon home world, which is – as we all know – a fair distance away. The thing that differentiates transwarp beaming from regular is that it moves space, not a specific pattern of molecules. Like I said, I won't go into specifics, but it seems that whoever made star system Clip used the same exact equation used for transwarp beaming… only to move large volumes of space from in between the planet and the stars to outside the system altogether."

"This," Pavel piped up, after he was pretty sure his face had gone back to its regular shade, "is the configuration of space around this system, as far as we can make out." He tapped the screen in a dizzying formation and brought up a strangely warped grid that covered the system's map. "Since gravity bends space, you'll see the inside of the system is bent largely the same way as the gravity diagram. But, outside the system," he zoomed the picture out, so Clip itself only took up about half the space, "You'll see that there are some skewed, but otherwise normal, areas. The grid is the same as normal space, but off center or rotated. These are the areas we believe were warped out of the system to make it smaller."

Oddly this was the one thing that everyone seemed to understand without any questions asked. After going over what was essentially just very general details – as far as that oxymoron made sense – the system overview was finished.

"The hell is powering this?" McCoy asked no one in particular.

"Well, you see Bones," Kirk started, "If you'd been here earlier _you'd_ know that we _don't_ know that."

"Well, there have to be some options. At the very least you can eliminate some, just by how much energy you think this would take," McCoy protested.

Spock's voice rang through the meeting room. "If I remember Ensign Whitten's report correctly," which of course he did, "I believe she suggested the notion of Dyson spheres."

"Great." McCoy rolled his eyes. "What's a Lysol-sphere, or whatever you just called it?"

"It's a hypothetical device to capture the power output of a star." Everyone in the room blinked in surprise as Ensign Brooke, who had so far sat quietly next to Nyota, spoke up for the first time. Unable to see everyone's shocked expressions, the Communications officer continued, "It would be a giant structure, almost an exoskeleton for a star. It takes the heat, light, and radiation that the star emits and turns it into usable energy."

"How do you know that?" Scotty asked, he was smiling though, clearly impressed.

"I read," Brooke shrugged at the corner Scotty sat in and gave a toothy half-smile. "Actually, I listened to the report and looked up what a Dyson Sphere was during the break, so I'd actually have something to contribute."

"That is awesome," Kirk said. "Love it when people are proactive."

"But the thing I was confused about," Brooke continued, turning from where Scotty sat to address the approximate location of Pavel, "Is that, if it absorbs all of the radiation, how can we tell the star is there at all when we're this far away, aside from the star's gravity? And since the gravity is all so messed up, if you can't see the star on a scan for radiation, then how do you know that's just not some weird swirl of gravity because of everything else?"

"I believe," Spock said, clearly very respectful of the fact that Brooke had researched this, even though it wasn't his field of expertise, "that there are only two partial Dyson sphere, both around the smallest of the stars in the system. These partial Dyson spheres would more than likely have a web pattern, distributed evenly across the atmosphere of the star. Also, Dyson spheres do have a thermal energy reading. Based on the energy output from the star, we believe that these Spheres are powering the transporters." There was a brief moment where everyone was taking in the conversation before McCoy piped up.

"Forgive me if I'm wrong," McCoy's tone greatly contradicted his words, as it was very hard and generally the same tone he used with Nurse Frost when she was being particularly annoying. "But the transporters here would not require nearly as much energy as the continuous warp. And before you say anything, yes, I did read the report." The mutinous look on his face challenged anyone to contradict him. "So, where's this great source of power that making the warp?"

"Probably on the planet somewhere," Scotty replied. "But we'd have to go down there to check, we can't really rely on any of the readings we get though the confusion of the warped space and radiation from the stars."

"Who would be crazy enough to go down to that planet?" Nyota exclaimed. "And how would we even communicate with them, or help them if something goes wrong?"

"They'd be on their own," Pavel said, doing his best not to glance at Kirk out of the corner of his eye. "If we did send an away team, they couldn't be transported down, for the same reason we can't really trust our reading of what is on or in the planet. They would have to go on a shuttle, with radiation suits if they wanted to leave it. We can't be sure if the planet has enough of an atmosphere to protect them from any of the radiation, or if the planet even has an atmosphere."

"Why are we even talking about going down to that planet?" Nyota asked. "Clearly it's a bad idea."

"But," Kirk said from his chair by the blacked out window, "it _is_ our mission."

"What do you mean?" Hikaru asked, shifting is his seat to peer around Pavel at the captain.

"Seek out new life and new civilization? Remember that? Clearly this thing is artificial, so something with intelligence must have made it. We're really close to it, and though some unknown individual on the Enterprise appears to have sent them a message, they have not responded. Either they are dead and their culture is gone along with them – which Lieutenant Sge said is a real possibility – or they're a bit shy, and may lash out if we go any farther out in to unexplored space. This could be their territory, and we don't want them jumping down our throats if we start trespassing without realizing it. This could be an outpost of some kind." Kirk looked around at the room, and even Nyota seemed to acknowledge the importance of that last point. "One sure way of getting on your neighbors' nerves is flying right by their ' _No Admittance Except On Party Business_ ' sign." Kirk held up a hand to forestall Spock's inevitable question. "It's a reference, Spock, I'll explain later. Point is, we need to try contacting whoever or whatever made this. And if we can't do it form here, we have to go down there. I asked Lieutenant Sge to write up a list of people he'd recommend for the away team if we choose to send one, since he and Ensign Whitten have been working closely on this system. I'm going to ask him to send it to me and then we can discuss the list. I'll welcome any recommendations or ideas for this. I have a funny feeling we're going to have to go down there, and I'd rather be prepared."

-0-

 **Okay, here's the end. Hopefully there aren't too many typos, since I finished this really quickly. I'll go back and fix them later if there are. Happy Halloween everyone!**


	28. Chapter 28: Coperniucs

**Guess what today is! It's the first anniversary of this story! December 6** **th** **! (I'm sorry for not posting in November. Lots of stuff was happening.)**

 **BUT!**

 **Hooray! CONFETTI! BALLOONS!**

 **HAPPY BRIRTHDAY, SANGUINE!**

 **I'm so proud! My little story is growing up! I was going to post on Sunday, but then I remembered how close the anniversary was, so…. That's why there's a Tuesday update.**

 **In celebration, here is a ridiculously long chapter!**

 **No, seriously. Ridiculously long.**

-0-

Chapter 28: Copernicus

Ensign Joanna Whitten.

Ensign Xi Nguyen.

Ensign Sean Nils.

Ensign Kater Patron.

Ensign Maximillian Brooke.

Lieutenant T'kao Sge.

Lieutenant Pavel Chekov.

Kirk stood back and surveyed the seven crew members that stood before him; an odd team for an away mission, to say the least. It was an hour before the Enterprise would reach the septenary star system – even though 'septenary' was not even the right word for it, as Uhura had explained _at length_ earlier – and he was trying to put together final orders for the unorthodox away team that stood at attention. Behind the stiff, silent figures of the crew, the warp stream slipped by with odd shapes and flowing eddies in the light that flew across the window. Since Bones had sulked out of the room not too long before, Kirk had turned the floor to ceiling windows that made up the far wall back to translucent, rather than opaque.

At the end of the line on the left, Ensign Whitten stood alone, seemingly taller for the lack of her colossal guards from security. Although abandoned by her constant companions at Kirk's order, Joanna still stood slightly apart from the rest of the line, if only by a few inches; it was as if she missed the hulking bookends that had been shadowing her for hours. If she was actually nervous, though, she gave no other outward sign of it. Her hands were clasped behind her back and she stared straight ahead, an unreadable statue. She disregarded the fact that her eyes and hands were the only two ways she had to communicate with the world. Or maybe that was the point; to make herself as unreadable as possible. Jim still wasn't entirely comfortable with sending her off the ship at a time like this, but Sge made a good argument, and Jim had already put his foot down on Bones' protests; at one point Bones had looked ready to stage a sit-in, but Jim had basically jumped down his throat to make him stand down. Metaphorically speaking. Too late to go back after that.

Besides, Joanna's shoulders were relaxed, sloping gently down, and her forehead was not creased; she was a statue of neutral serenity carved in marble. Nothing wrong with that… Or, there wouldn't be anything wrong with that if her eyes weren't so hostile. Their quiet grey was cold steel; where Kirk hoped to see laughter or contentment, he saw only… something unnerving. Something that came close to the look of a cornered fox caught between hunting dogs and an insurmountable wall. Stiff and languid at the same time; afraid and ready to strike, but trying not to show it. Kirk wished he could figure out why she seemed so robotic and so feral at the same time; it was an odd dichotomy, and one he did not think sat well within her, for all her affect at tranquility. He would have recommended that she see one of the two ship's resident psychiatrists about it, but under the circumstances… Bones was not exactly the best answer.

Kirk flicked his eyes three feet to Ensign Whitten's left. Ensign Xi Nguyen stood stiffly, eyeing Whitten in a sidelong glance that made no attempt at being circumspect. He was probably wondering why she was avoiding him; everyone else was certainly wondering it. Lieutenant Sge, standing farther down the line, especially; he kept glancing down to the end of the line at Nguyen and Whitten when he thought Kirk wouldn't notice. It was well known that Whitten and Nguyen were inseparable while on duty; not only was he her interpreter, they also worked well together, churning out theories and data analysis faster than anyone could believe. While most of the abstract theories the pair came up with could be laid at Whitten's feet, Nguyen was the fastest at grunt mathematical work that they had in stellar cartography. He even beat the computer a few times, finding patterns in anomalies that seemed to shift with the second. ' _Now is not the time for the dream team to start having issues. I wonder if Nguyen is mad at Whitten about the fights_?' Kirk wondered, before dismissing the thought to look farther down the line. They were both professionals… somewhat. And star system Clip was of interest to both of them; they had no reason to sabotage themselves with in-fighting when so much was at stake. At least, that was what Kirk hoped.

The total line-up was a cause for concern. Seven people were going, because that was the number the chosen shuttle could handle, and only one of them was from security. Kater Patron, the only nonhuman of the bunch, stood in the very center of the line, at least a head taller than anyone else. Even Pavel, who shockingly was the second tallest. Kirk had debated between sending Hendorff or Patron, but ultimately it was Patron's enthusiasm for the mission that had won it for him. Well, it might have been enthusiasm, Kirk wasn't sure. Even standing at attention he seemed as at ease as he would have waiting for the light at a crosswalk to change. But according to Sulu, Patron was more than interested in the mission and desperately wanted to know more about the system and the planet. One sure way to do that was to get the scientists home safely, so Kirk supposed that Patron would be happy to help. The problem was, the ratio of security to scientist was 1:6. Just one security officer to protect a pilot, a navigator, a communications specialist, and three stellar cartographers. But according to T'kao Sge and Kirk's own assessment, every one of those people were necessary, and that left only one seat on the shuttle for a security officer. This was not going at all how Kirk hoped.

"You are going for the sole purpose of collecting data," Kirk began, and ignored how half the people standing in that line jumped when he broke the silence. " _Only_ collecting data. If you get there and feel that your life or safety is endangered in any way, _leave_. Do not ask questions, do not hesitate, do not pass go, do not collect $200. Just get together and get out. I want you all to stay close by each other. Groups of two, minimum. No one goes off on their own, no one stays by _or in_ the shuttle on their own. Every single one of you must have a phaser with you and wear your radiation suit at all times. Do not go beyond the line of sight of the shuttle unless you have a damned good reason that you know me, Doctor McCoy, and Spock would all agree with… _at the same time_. I want every single one of you within running distance of the shuttle if this whole thing goes south. We cannot get you out of there easily if anything goes wrong; at Lieutenants Sge's and Chekov's recommendation, though, there will be a transporter specialist waiting to beam you out if necessary, but that is the last resort. It's entirely possible that after transporting you through the space in that system, even if you _look_ whole on the other side of the beam, you might have left your internal organs somewhere between Clip Alpha and Clip Delta. And that means that wherever the rest of you ends up – and I can't guarantee it will be on the Enterprise – you're dead."

Ensign Brooke looked terrified and audibly gulped. Pavel's jaw tightened, even though he had been the one to give that warning to Kirk in the first place. Everyone else seemed to laze between bored and apathetic, and Kirk wondered whether he should be concerned. Nothing about this was boding well for the mission.

"That's why the transporter is the last resort, as I said before. I just want you all to recognize," Kirk hardened his voice and looked pointedly at Whitten, "how _serious_ this mission is. Moreover, how _dangerous_ it is. We know little to nothing about that planet save that it cannot support life as we know it on its surface due to the radiation and location of the seven stars. Our information is going to come through you first. You may even make first contact if necessary. You have all been briefed and read the report on the current extent of our knowledge, and you know each of you is going for a reason," Kirk paused to make eye contact with each of the officers in front of him. Did Sean Nils look a little… guilty? No. Had to just be a trick of the light from the warp slip stream. "I expect you to complete your assigned tasks to the best of your ability. Good luck and Godspeed. Dismissed."

The officers began to file out of the room silently, until there was only Pavel waiting by the open door. Out of nowhere there was a sudden hissing sound from the hall, and then Prize bounded past the open door, lips drawn back in a snarl. Prize hated everyone going on the away mission with the sole exceptions of Pavel and Ensign Brooke. After the spitting ferret had ducked out of sight, Pavel stuck his head into the hall for a moment before ducking back into the room, letting the door slide closed behind him.

"Captain," Pavel said, "There was something that I wanted to mention earlier, but everything happened so quickly after the meeting I couldn't find the time."

"What was it?" Kirk asked.

"It was something I overheard in the lab when we were leaving. Lieutenant Sge and Ensign Nguyen were talking… and… I can't remember the exact words, but I knew that Ensign Whitten was asking something – it sounded important, just based on Nguyen's tone – and… ah, I wish I remembered exactly what they said. It made me think that Sge and Nguyen may have something to do with- with Ilsa… or the system… Oh! Whitten said the Clip system was a lot like one of her Academy special projects. And then Sge told Nguyen to give Whitten the same explanation that Sge told Nguyen, and… Do you understand what I'm saying?" Pavel asked and rubbed his face with his hands. Kirk could feel the early wrinkles starting to set in just by looking at him.

"Look, it was probably nothing," Kirk assured him, sounding quite a bit more certain than he felt. "Whitten was doing a lot of advanced, hypothetical projects in the Academy and Clip apparently looks a lot like a star system she came up with at some point. It's probably why she was able to figure out all of this stuff so quickly. She could have just been freaked out by the similarities and was asking for some reassurance."

"I don't know," Pavel protested, "Their tones sounded more confrontational than that."

"Everyone's on edge," Kirk replied. A true statement. His stomach felt like it was about to fall out the bottom of his feet. "Nguyen and Sge were probably just as freaked out by the similarities since they all worked together closely at the Academy."

"I guess," Pavel mumbled.

"Chin up, kid," Kirk said before wincing. "Sorry. I'm trying to train myself out of that habit, I promise. But, go on. The others are probably waiting for you in the shuttle bay." Pavel nodded once before striding out of the room, perhaps a touch sulkily if that was possible; Kirk hoped Pavel hadn't taken what he said the wrong way.

Not three minutes later Kirk was on the bridge, hunched over the edge of his seat and wishing that the whole world didn't seem to be pulsing with his heartbeat, which was too fast anyway. ' _Anxiety's a bitch_ ,' he thought.

"Jim. Jim, did you hear me?" Bones' voice floated to him in his reverie, but it still took another full second for Kirk to actually register what he'd said. Kirk snapped his head up and saw Bones standing to his right and looking at him with that withering, single-raised-eyebrow stare that was much more like Spock's than Kirk would ever admit, even under oath. That was one thing he did not need Bones mad at him for.

Uhura knew exactly what Kirk was thinking though, having noticed the shared facial expression herself, even where she sat on the side of the bridge. She tried and failed to keep a straight face, glancing over her shoulder at Spock and smirking.

"Uh, sorry, Bones. I wasn't paying attention," Kirk replied, his sheepish smile all the evidence Bones needed to sigh and ask,

"You didn't even hear me come in, did you?" Bones' raised eyebrow was swapped out for a deadpan stare.

"No. No, I did not." He could see it in Bones' stance that all he wanted to do right then was to hit Kirk over the back of the head, but instead his longsuffering CMO took a deep breath, holding it in for a good five seconds.

"Okay, then," Bones gritted out. "I was requesting to be present on the bridge for the duration of the mission, unless there's an emergency."

"Request granted. Pop a squat, Bones," Kirk proclaimed, before suddenly remembering that there were no available chairs for an audience. Apparently, the Enterprise's designers didn't really think that captaining warranted a peanut gallery. In Kirk's humble opinion they were mistaken.

"Thanks," Bones said wryly. "I think I'll stand."

"Good choice, good choice." Kirk cleared his throat and looked pointedly at the viewscreen, which was nowhere near the line of sight needed to see Uhura stifling more laughter. She wasn't doing a very good job at the 'stifling' part, though. So even if he couldn't see it, he could definitely hear it.

On the viewscreen were a number of readings. Half of the space was taken up by a grid of the away team's vitals, a less detailed duplicate of the grid being shown in Med Bay at that very moment. At the bottom of the grid there was a small rectangle showing the shuttle's status. But next to the vitals grid was what really caught Kirk's interest: yet another version of the system maps that he had seen so many times during those endless meetings. On the very edge there was a tiny blip, just a small blink of light, that then turned into a dot with the words "USS Enterprise" above it.

"Captain," Sulu said from his seat at the helm, "We've ar- arrived." It didn't take a genius to figure out why Sulu's voice was shaking; Kater was on the away mission, and the security officer's enthusiasm for the job apparently did not make up for the amount of danger he was about to be in.

Though Kirk didn't actually believe it, earlier he had reassured Sulu that there would be no more danger on this mission than on any other away mission.

"Clear viewscreen," Kirk commanded, and not a second later he and everyone else could see straight through the giant window at the front of the bridge. Bones made a small choking sound in his throat at the sight, but Kirk whistled. "Wow. No wonder it's been giving us hell."

Before him it looked like the auroras on Earth had taken a vacation on the nice sunny beaches of the impossible and then took acrobatics, wrapping themselves impossibly around a rainbow of stars and copious amounts of radiation. A blue giant, two white stars, one yellow star, and three red dwarfs of varying sizes – one almost looked orange – made up the smallest constellation he had ever seen, with their light bent in strange arcs and loops, their colors sometimes distinct and sometimes colliding in a dazzling spray of the most brilliant white light he'd ever seen. Dumbstruck, he sat and stared for a minute; the rest of the crew appeared to be doing the same, even Bones.

"Impressive, Captain," was Spock's dry assessment. "But we should return to the mission at hand. All readings appear to confirm what we found at a distance, though there ise slightly more carbon and iron on the surface of the planet than expected. The increase in carbon is 5.3% and the increase in iron is 23.4%."

"23.4% is not 'slightly,' Spock," Uhura remarked, never tearing her eyes away from the arcs on the viewscreen. The more Kirk looked, the more they looked like coronal loops instead of bends in space-time. But, then again, he had only ever seen a bend in space-time from the inside or from dangerously close quarters where destruction was imminent. He had never really gotten the chance to sit back and admire how stunning life-threatening temporal disturbances could be. "Captain," Uhura remarked, "Are we sanguine about how this mission is going to go?" (1)

"Sanguine?" Kirk asked. "What's that mean?"

Two voices answered at the same time:

"Hopeful."

"Bloody."

Uhura and Bones looked askance at each other across the bridge. Everyone else turned simultaneously to give Bones a copy-and-paste ' _the_ hell _is wrong with you?_ ' look, undeviating across every face.

" _Bloody_ , Bones?" Kirk inquired.

"So sue me! I'm a doctor, not a linguist! But," he conceded, and nodded at Uhura, "it means hopeful, too. It does, at that."

"Right," Kirk sighed. "I guess that just about covers all the options, then, doesn't it?" Both Bones and Sulu looked at him with wide-eyed horror, and Uhura glared at him from behind Bones. She disapproved of sarcastically remarking on the danger that people's loved ones were in, and no wonder why, given that Sulu's horrified expression did not change even when he turned back to his station. "Return readings to views screen," Kirk said, and just between the gap separating the vitals grid and the map, Kirk could see the speck, the tiny dot that indicated the central planet. His tongue turned dry and he had the sudden urge to vomit. "Damn nerves," he muttered. Louder, he continued, "Uhura, hail the shuttle. Check their status. Let's get this show on the road." Uhura nodded quickly and flipped a switch, disapproval forgotten.

"Enterprise, to Shuttlecraft 3. Enterprise to Copernicus, come in," Uhura said.

"Copernicus responding." Ensign Brooke's voice came through the bridge's speaker clearly, and Kirk felt his toes curl in his shoes. ' _Please don't let this be a mistake_ ,' Kirk prayed to any deity who would listen. ' _Just get everyone back in one piece. That's all I ask. Everyone in one piece. Is this really necessary? It's not too late to call it off.._.'

"Copernicus, what is your status?" Uhura asked, seeming more intent on the readings on the view screen than the vocal answer.

"Ready to launch at your command," Brooke responded over the speaker.

Every head swiveled to face Kirk; if they had practiced, the movement from every corner of the bridge could not have been more synchronized. Kirk was so numb, he couldn't tell if he was even breathing. Then he felt an impossible urge to scrap the whole mission, turn tail, and run. Fast and far.

Inexplicably, he just nodded to Uhura instead.

Uhura whipped back around to her station and opened up another channel. "Shuttle Bay, please respond. What is your status?"

"Shuttle Bay, responding," came the crackled reply. The special equipment that Scotty and Brooke had rigged up to get the communication through the warp in the star system must have greatly improved communication quality. Kirk considered seeing if they could make those changes standard on the other shuttle craft after the mission. "All systems normal, ready for launch."

"Shuttlecraft 3, Copernicus, you are clear for launch," Uhura said, flipping switches and tapping buttons in a dizzying configuration that left Kirk wondering what _exactly_ she was doing.

"Copernicus responding. We have successfully exited Shuttle Bay 1. We are now clear of the Enterprise, please advise."

"Copernicus is clear on our readings as well," Sulu pronounced, his voice not shaking at all, even though it had every reason to do so.

Again, Uhura looked over at Kirk. This was another chance to stop the mission; he could claim there was new information. He was sure he wouldn't have to look too hard for a halfway decent reason to delay… The carbon, maybe? That ridiculous increase in iron? Instead he nodded, like he had before. ' _Why did I do that?_ ' he wondered, watching from the captain's chair as Uhura turned back to her station.

"Copernicus, you are clear of the Enterprise, proceed with the mission as planned," Uhura pronounced, and everyone who hadn't gone back to their jobs yet spun to face their consoles, just to make sure that nothing had changed in the thirty seconds they had their backs to the screens. Kirk kept his eyes firmly on the viewscreen and within seconds the Copernicus was in sight, slipping past the side of the Enterprise and into open space.

"The thing's haulin' the mail," Bones quipped, looking at the receding shuttle. Apparently, Kirk wasn't the only one looking past the statistics on the viewscreen; every single reading was normal anyway, except for most of the away team's heartrates, but that was understandable. And none of them were dangerously high. Behind the readings, the shuttle was dwindling in size, seeming to shrink instead of move farther away. One thing about space was that it messed with your perception of distance a lot more than you'd expect.

"Yeah, the planet is actually a lot farther away than it looks," Kirk responded. "Not that it looks that close to begin with. The problem with the continuous warp that's being used here is that you can't punch a hole through it. Maintaining the warp of space is one thing. Maintaining multiple holes through those warps is quite another. The weird thing about that is from their point of view in the shuttle, all they need to do is head straight toward the planet and they'll get there just like they would if the space wasn't warped. Things around them may look odd, but since light will be moved with the warp of the space, to them it will look like they're just going straight to the planet. To us, it will look like they travel along at least two large loops, maybe a few smaller ones, too." By the end, Spock was looking at Kirk almost approvingly and Bones looked like he was going to be violently ill in the nearest trash receptacle he could find.

"That's messed up," Bones finally croaked, his eyes now fixed pointedly on the away team's status grid on the viewscreen, instead of the mess that was star system Clip behind it. A few minutes passed like that, Bones definitely NOT looking at the star system and Kirk trying his best not to tap his foot in irritation. As fast as the shuttle was going, now a dot in the distance, it was still not fast enough for him. He wanted this mission to be over and done with. And then the dot wavered. Kirk almost jumped out of his skin as the speakers on the bridge began to project Brooke's voice.

"USS Enterprise, Shuttlecraft 3 Copernicus reporting."

"Copernicus, this is the Enterprise. What is your report?" Uhura responded.

"According to our chart, we are just about to reach the first major warp," Brooke responded. "Stand by."

Even as the tinny feedback faded, Kirk watched as the shuttle made a very sudden change in direction; it appeared to now be going up instead of straight forward relative to the Enterprise.

"Copernicus, what is your status?" Uhura asked, even as she watched the viewscreen's numerous grids. There was now a tinier dot on the map than the one that marked the Enterprise. It had 'SC3' floating above it, as it drifted across the chart. Shuttlecraft 3.

"We are now inside the first warp. According to all of our readings we are still headed straight for the central planet. However, according to our map, we appear to be heading at a ninety-degree angle to our previous trajectory." Uhura nodded, satisfied with the answer, but Spock looked worried – at least, worried for a Vulcan – and was studying the map on the viewscreen intently.

"All indications are that they should stay on the current trajectory," Sulu piped up from the helm. Kirk nodded again, once at him and once at Uhura, before turning back to the viewscreen and trying not to bite through his tongue when he realized just how _wrong_ the shuttle looked against the backdrop of star system Clip.

"Keep to your current course," Uhura said to Brooke, and then, in an admonishing tone, "Maintain an open channel for the remainder of the mission."

There was a small, embarrassed cough at the other end before Brooke replied, "Yes, Lieutenant." For a moment, there was no sound except the white noise from the comm equipment's feedback, but then there were a few scraping sounds and rustling fabric. After a brief argument on the other end that was so muffled no one but Uhura could understand it, a new voice came over the speakers.

"Hello, Enterprise?" Pavel asked.

"Hello, Lieutenant Chekov. What can I do for you, now that you're breaking protocol?" Uhura asked wryly.

"Yes, vell, about breaking protocol, please tell Helmsman Sulu and Keptin Kirk to stop doing my job for me," Pavel asked, with enough sarcasm dripping off his voice to fill a bucket. For some reason – maybe it was the sarcasm and maybe it was the speaker – his accent seemed a lot stronger. "Zere iz no point sending a nawigator unless you actually let me nawigate somezing!"

"Understood, Lieutenant Chekov," Kirk replied, not even trying to hide the laugh in his voice. "Please give us frequent updates as to your movements."

"Zank you, Keptin," Pavel replied, and then there was a more muffled, "Sorry, Max." Must have been talking to Ensign Brooke.

It went on like that for a while, little jokes thrown back and forth for about a half hour. Shockingly, there were no problems, technical or external. Nothing on the Enterprise either. Everything was going swimmingly. Just as the shuttle was about to touch down on the planet's surface, Bones cleared his throat and shifted for the fifth time in a minute, pulling on the edges of his sleeves.

"What is it, Bones?" Kirk sighed.

"Nothing, it's just…" Bones rubbed his forehead, trying to smooth out the worry lines. "Why didn't you tell me the trip would take so long? They're a full half-hour away on a foreign planet we know next to nothing about and… they should have a medical officer with them, damn it! If something goes wrong – and it always goes wrong, don't try and tell me differently! – then the only help they can get is from each other. This is bad, Jim."

The landing went off without a hitch, though, and the first thing the bridge heard when the individual comm links between the radiation suits were hooked up was the sound of Nguyen laughing, backed with a lot of static.

"What? What's so funny?" someone asked. Even with the interference from the radiation, Kirk would have put money on the fact that it was Kater, and that he was smiling.

"Nothing, it's just that Whitten is funnier than you give her credit for," Nguyen replied, still giggling.

"That's just because you're terrible at telling jokes, even if they're not yours. Honestly, more people laugh _at_ you than _with_ you." If that wasn't T'kao Sge, Kirk would eat his shoes.

"Ouch. Okay, that hurt," Nguyen replied.

Out of the blue there was an odd chuffing sound that seemed a bit like labored breathing and a bit like coughing. Beside him, Bones blinked in surprise.

"What was that?" Uhura asked over the comms, though Spock seemed more than a little peeved at the diversion.

"Oh, uh, Joanna laughing. At me. Because of you, Sge; thanks for that." There was a moment where some fabric rustled and then, "Shut up, Joanna, no one asked you."

Bones' back went rigid and he looked pissed for all of about half a second before forcing his face blank.

"What did she say?" Kirk didn't recognize that voice, so it had to be Sean Nils, the shuttle pilot. Or maybe it could be someone he knew, but didn't recognize over the comms. Who knew, for sure? The static seemed to come and go in waves, sometimes in the middle of a sentence, and every once and a while Kirk was sure he heard Brooke mutter to himself. It did not sound complimentary, but every time he made a triumphant little 'Ah-ha!' the sound got better. Unfortunately, the link between their comms and the Enterprise seemed to need minute tuning every few seconds, so Uhura got to smirk at muttered curse words in other languages that floated behind the static whenever it got worse.

"She said I'm not even funny when I don't have to talk! I'm telling you, that's just mean," Nguyen said over the sounds of quiet chuffing from Joanna and even quieter cursing from Ensign Brooke. Kirk could tell Nguyen was smiling by his voice, but clearly the two were close if they were able to joke like that without tone to tell sarcasm apart from normal conversation.

"Please may we return to the mission?" Spock asked, and the voices on the other side of the comms fell silent.

"Of course," Sge replied smoothly, "I apologize for the diversion."

"Would you please turn on your camera?" Spock said. The grid and map that filled the viewscreen shrank in a smooth motion and flew to the edge while the rest of the screen was taken up by an image crackling with interference. The first thing that Kirk saw was Brooke, hunched over a large metal box, knobs of different sizes and shapes spangled across its front. The image and sound seemed to be linked; when one became indistinct, so did the other. And when the sound began to get fuzzy, Brooke began to fiddle with the box in front of him, the souped up transmitter/signal booster Scotty and Brooke had put together. For a moment both the viewscreen and the bridge's speakers burst with static before settling again as Brooke's fingers flew over the face of the transmitter. By the time he was done, only an eighth of the picture was indistinct, and the static on the comms was really just background noise.

"Better?" Brooke asked, his head tilted to the side.

"Better," Uhura said. "Thank you, Ensign Brooke." The rest of the picture showed the dim, metal interior of the shuttle. At the front there was a single seater cockpit separated from the main body of the shuttle by a waist-high barrier. Thin, tubular lights bordered an overhang that topped the three seats against each outward wall, just high enough that a person sitting wouldn't have to stoop. All seven members of the away team were crowded into the cabin of the shuttle, five of them standing almost on top of one another in the narrow strip of empty floor between the seats. Only Brooke and Ensign Nguyen were seated, though for entirely different reasons; Brooke was concentrated on the whatever-the-hell-that-thing-actually-was-that-Brooke-and-Scotty-cooked-up. Nguyen just looked bored, since Joanna – small as she was compared to the rest of the people on the away team – was crowded into the door by Kater Patron's protruding elbows. He had his hands on his hips and seemed to be trying to make himself as tall, wide, and intimidating as possible. Sge, who had the camera mounted on his suit, was apparently standing in the back corner of the shuttle where he could see everything.

"Yep. Thanks, Brooke. Now, someone needs to go outside," Kirk said, "and I hope you guys made a decision. Did you draw straws on the way there?" he joked.

"Perhaps, Captain, they used a more logical approach to determining who is best suited to leave the shuttle first," Spock said from Uhura's side. That was unusual; during mission Spock mostly decided to stand by Kirk or sit at a station of his own. Then again, Bones was in Spock's spot next to the captain's chair… Maybe it was like that one ancient sitcom that Kirk had seen once, where one of the main characters had a "spot" on the couch and would be very awkward whenever someone else was in it…

"Well, Enterprise, here's the thing," Kater Patron piped up, still standing so his elbow was about five inches from Joanna Whitten's face. She gave a him a glare that he couldn't see, as focused as he was on Sge. "We made a decision about the teams," Patron continued, "that was simple enough – but we're divided by who should be the first person out of the shuttle."

"This is _ridiculous_ ," Bones muttered, too softly for anyone but Kirk and maybe Uhura to hear.

"Ensigns Nils and Brooke will stay with the shuttle," that was Sge's voice, so no one's lips moved except for Nguyen's as he made half-hearted gestures in the cramped space so Joanna could see what Sge was saying. "Ensigns Nguyen and Whitten, along with Lieutenant Chekov, will be team one. Ensign Kater Patron and myself will be team two. As for who the first out of the shuttle should be, I recommend myself-"

"Bull!" said two voices at once, one on the bridge and the other in the shuttle. Kater Patron and Bones blinked in surprise, as synchronized as they had been speaking. That was the second-time Bones had spoken in unison with someone, and Kirk considered getting him tested for telepathy. Entirely as a joke, of course. (Totally wouldn't be a joke…)

"Bones, care to elaborate? I'll ask you in a second, Kater," Kirk said, turning his head toward the viewscreen for absolutely no reason at all. The video feed was one way, so there was no way to acknowledge Kater except vocally. Bones cleared his throat and Kirk turned back to look up at his friend's expression. It wasn't happy.

"Two teams of three," Bones started, "one in either direction, and Brooke will stay with the ship to make sure both teams stay connected by comms. Why the hell didn't you people decide on this before you _left, instead of on the shuttle_? Honestly! Anyway, team one is Nguyen, Whitten, and Patron. Team two is Chekov, Sge, and Nils. Sge, Nils, and Nguyen all spent time on the security track at the Academy and have continued with their training even after leaving the program – don't try to deny it; I looked at all your files – and it makes no sense to load the teams so one is for data analysis and one is for security. If you want to do it that way, just stick together. But if you want to split up to cover more ground, my way is the best way. Instead of stacking it so you have two teams dedicated to one or the other, distribute it so the teams are even. Two people trained in security on both teams, one of whom is also an astrophysicist, and one dedicated science officer for research per team." Bones finished his tirade and hunched over his crossed arms, glaring at the rest of the room.

"That's a very logical assessment, Doctor," Spock said, eyeing Bones like he thought the CMO might be ill in the head. Or an imposter.

"I agree," Kirk said. "Sge? You're in charge down there. You going to go with that, or should I make it a formal order?" Kirk asked, this time addressing the ceiling instead of the viewscreen. For no good reason.

"I find that an acceptable plan. Though it does make exception to your rule about no one staying by the shuttle by themselves," Sge said. His voice was dry and even without seeing his face Kirk knew he was incredulous. But, he also sounded hopeful, which was not a bad sign.

"It makes sense spelled out, Sge. Just do it. Anyway, Mr. Patron, what was it you wanted to say?" Kirk asked, raising an eyebrow at the screen of Uhura's station.

"I should be the first one onto the planet. I'm here to protect the rest of you, and I can't do my job being the last one out of the-"

"No, Mr. Patron, I don't believe you-" Sge broke in.

"-shuttle. You'd have to be suicidal not to listen to the only-"

"-know quite what you're talking about here. You see-"

"-security officer on the team-"

"-what you fail to understand, Mr. Patron-"

Behind "Mr. Patron," Nguyen's fingers were flying and he kept making jumpy movements, unsure of who's speech to follow in the argument.

"Listen, how about I just go first-" That HAD to be Nils. Kirk was sure of it this time, even if he was so far back in the shuttle he was behind several people and Kirk couldn't see his lips move.

"NO!" both Sge and Patron shouted, before turning back to one another and resuming their fight.

Nguyen threw his hands in the air silently and fell back with a sulky look on his face. Kirk was pretty sure that was universal sign language for "I am so done with this crap."

"Well, what about-" Kirk didn't have time to figure out who said that, since they were cut off as light flooded the cabin, brilliant white, and a single shadow cast from the open door moved across stricken faces.

"Joanna Renee McCoy! You get your ass back on that shuttle THIS INSTANT!" Bones exploded, apparently having registered what happened faster than anyone else did. Kirk wouldn't have put it past Bones to have watched Joanna and just Joanna the entire time, so maybe it wasn't _that_ impressive. But, Bones had apparently forgotten about the simple fact of Joanna being deaf, and that left Nguyen the unpleasant task of dashing out after her and rapidly signing something that could only be a – hopefully censored – version of what Bones had just yelled. Sge walked to the doorway and when Joanna turned to look at the camera she had an expression that said "You are all thumb-sucking, idiot toddlers with only half a brain cell between the lot of you" more clearly than words ever could. And her expression made her look so much like Bones, Kirk had to slide a look to his right to make sure the CMO was still standing there and hadn't magically ended up on the planet without a transporter. Stranger things had happened.

' _Wait_ ,' Kirk thought, his brain finally catching up to his ears, ' _did he just say Joanna Renee_ McCoy? _Not Whitten?_ ' Kirk smiled to himself, perhaps a touch sadly, before turning to whisper, "Bones, I think you might want to find somewhere to sit down. I really do not need a reason to kick you out right now. Just sit down, shut up, and you can stay, got it?"

"Sit down," Bones muttered, though he still trudged off to the side of the bridge, not sitting, since there was nowhere for him to sit, eventually trailing off to indecipherable grumbles. "How 'bout I tell _you_ to sit down? How'd'ya' like that, ya little piece a'-"

"The planet is safe," Nguyen said, clearly peeved and also clearly interpreting for Ensign Joanna Renee McCoy/Whitten/whatever, who had made three quick signs before letting her hands fall to her sides.

Behind her sprawled a barren landscape the like of which Kirk had never seen before.

And he had seen _a lot_ of barren landscapes in his time.

(Sometimes he thought it was amazing how so many lifeless hunks of rock in space ended up looking _just_ like some scrap of desert near the western coast of North America. Go figure.)

Granted, this particular desert had the basic necessities. Cracked, baked dirt of a middle-of-the-road brown-orange that _almost_ looked like some other color, thanks to the lighting. Blue, white, and yellow swirled in the sky; the few clouds – not made of water – were back lit green around the edges and their thin centers were a sickly grey. The ground stretched all the way to the horizon with nary a bump or hill, though there were a few obligatory, medium-sized rocks covered in brown dust. The planet's light came from everywhere at once, the seven stars made sure of that, so there were few shadows. The shadows that did lay slanted across the ground were short and faded, a pale reflection of what they would have been anywhere else.

But, in addition to the dime a dozen desert, there was also a towering structure in the distance, so tall that its base was beyond the horizon and the top was well clear of it, wide enough that it seemed to take up miles. It _must_ take up miles. And then Kirk saw something even more impossible. It had a twin, a duplicate behind it and to the side, distorted on the edge of Sge's camera lens.

"What are those things?" Kirk asked the silent room.

"I don't know," Nils replied. "And I didn't see them on our descent."

"How could you _not_ see that?" Sulu deadpanned and several heads around the room nodded in agreement.

"Uh, hey," Nguyen said. He stood at the bottom of the ramp, head tilted to look behind the shuttle; his face, though small on the viewscreen, held such a stricken expression it was plainly visible… and borderline comedic. Joanna stood next to Nguyen and was tugging on his sleeve at the elbow, pointing at something beyond the rear of the shuttle and behind it. Nguyen seemed transfixed as he continued, "There are more of them." The camera jounced and the image seemed to scatter, the already unclear picture turning into nothing but broad streaks of color. Sge, it seemed, had jogged down to where Nguyen and Joanna were already standing. There was a brief moment where the bridge had a wonderful view of the two towering structures in the distance and the intervening desert before Sge turned around to face the shuttle. Just behind the rear corner of the shuttle, though off a few miles in the distance at least, loomed yet another titanic structure; at least six times as wide as it was tall, it was clearly far closer than the two whose bases rested beyond the horizon.

"Seriously, though!" Sulu repeated, this time more emphatic, " _How_ do you miss something like that?"

"They must have been cloaked," Nils snarled, and Sge turned so the image blurred again before focusing onto Nils' furious expression. Nils continued, head whipping around to look at everyone's incredulous expression, "It's not my fault! Chekov, you sat up front on the left! You always sit there!" Nils spun to look at Chekov who stood next to Sge, so Nils wild eyes were clearly seen, desperate for anyone to believe him. "If anyone else could have seen _anything_ , it would have been you! Did you see wh-wha-whatever these things are?" he spluttered, and all eyes turned to Pavel.

Turning to face the structure again, Sge was either oblivious to the stilted moment or ignored it, as Pavel stumbled over his words on the very edge of the camera's field of view. "I- I," he stuttered, before leveling a glare at Nils that should have set the pilot begging for mercy. Confident, Pavel continued, "I saw something metallic on the way down. You remember, I said while we were landing that we would need to head toward Clip Beta to get to it. But it wasn't _those things_. For one thing, Clip Beta is in that direction." Pavel flung his hand out, pointing toward the nose of the shuttle, and on the horizon behind it sat a large white star. "For another, what I saw wasn't that large. It wasn't even large at all, a circle maybe ten meters across, maximum!"

"Considering how advanced the technology needed to make a system like this is, I'm surprised no one thought of the possibility of cloaking," Patron said… patronizingly. And making it so obvious that he wasn't looking at Pavel he might as well have held up a blinking, neon sign a mile wide that said 'I blame Pavel Chekov for such a glaring oversight.' Kirk glanced from the screen over toward where Spock stood next to Uhura, and if Vulcans did anything like facepalming, it would be Spock's posture. His head was leaned forward just enough to break his perfect stance, with his thumb and pointer finger pinching a tiny fold of skin between his eyebrows, his eyes squeezed shut.

"Uhura," Kirk said softly, flicking his gaze down from Spock's face to Uhura's. "Get anything?"

"No, Captain," she responded, with just a hint of indignation.

Clearing his throat, Kirk announced, "Nothing about the mission is changed."

Silence.

And then everyone started shouting at once. They threw in words like "respectfully" and the occasional "Captain," but for the most part they just told him he was wrong. Loudly. Maybe one in five wanted to continue the mission, Sge and Pavel were the only ones on the planet who really agreed with him. Well, maybe Ensign Whitten did, too, but she and Nguyen were having their own conversation to the side, signing faster than Kirk though possible. To his eyes, their silent conference was just a blur of fingers and hands flicking every which way. Everyone else's comments weren't so quiet, though, and even with all his years of Starfleet Academy training and Pike's lectures of ' _When you start yelling, people stop listening_ ', Kirk couldn't help raising his voice just a bit.

" _Even if you could have seen those things from the air_ , you still would have been ordered to land. Aside from keeping a link open with you, Lieutenant Uhura has been steadily hailing whatever may be on or in that planet for the entirety of your journey there. We have received no answer. But this system is a large enough aberration from normal that as explorers we have a duty to discover what its source is or was. Not to mention that continuing without further information could pose a danger to us later. We need an explanation for this aberration or, at the very least, a good reason why we couldn't get explanation. There is currently no immediate danger, and we were already sure that this system is artificial. Why shouldn't there be buildings? It may be abandoned, it may not, but until you have evidence of a dead or living civilization, you will not be leaving that planet unless your lives or wellbeing are in danger. ' _But there are big scary buildings,'_ is NOT a valid excuse for failing in this mission. You were chosen for this, now complete your job to the best of your ability." Static buzzed over a silent connection, as the officers on both sides considered Kirk's words.

"Well said," Sge spoke. He tried to grumble, but he was too happy to make it convincing. His words were accompanied by sighs on both sides, either relieved or regretful. Sulu seemed to be the latter, not that Kirk blamed him. They had talked earlier, when the recommended list for the away team came in, and had commiserated over sending Pavel. Neither were happy with that decision, but recognized the necessity of someone who could make split-second decisions and calculations when normal physics went on the fritz. Not to mention the fact that Patron was still on the planet, looking neither happy nor upset about the order to stay, so Sulu had at least two people down there that he cared about.

After that the team split as Bones had described, two teams of three and Brooke standing by in the shuttle, keeping their communications up and running. Twenty minutes passed, and neither team had anything to show for it. Both teams had trudged in opposite directions; Nguyen, Whitten, and Patron heading toward the first two structures they had seen directly to the side of the shuttle, and Pavel, Sge, and Nils toward the closer, singular structure toward the rear of the shuttle. Though both teams kept the shuttle well in sight, neither team could see each other by the time they got close enough to see some of the details on the structure. Or rather, the distinct lack of details.

"I do not zink zhat is just a building or wall," Pavel said. Sge turned to face him, so Pavel looked at the camera to address Enterprise's bridge crew. "Even zhough we cannot see ze structure's base, what we can see has no outside access to ze interior. Zis would not be odd, given ze radiation, except that zere are no vents. It is very hot on zis planet, and a structure zhat large would need vents to regulate its temperature. Ze only explanation is zhat ze vents are on ze roof, which makes sense, since all of zose green clouds are concentrated around ze buildings. Zerefore, zose aren't clouds, zhey're exhaust, which means-"

"More than likely the point of the entire structure is that it's a vent. For the byproducts of whatever is inside the planet, producing the warped space of the system," Nguyen piped up suddenly from the other end of the line. Unable to see Nguyen's team, since Sge was the only one with a camera, Kirk had no way of knowing whether that was actually Nguyen or Whitten talking. Bones had thrown a small hissy fit when he found out that there was only one camera, but even the improved communication transmitter could only handle putting so much through the radiation between the planet and the Enterprise. Any more information going through or one more link up and the signals would get muddled or have so much more static that the conversation would be unintelligible.

"Exactly!" Pavel announced. "Zese structures are ze exhaust ports of ze planet! For whatever is going on in zhere."

"In that case," Patron muttered, "we'd need to find a way down. Into the planet. A planet with advanced technology, confined spaces, and more than likely a royal butt-loadof booby traps."

"Royal butt-load? That a technical term?" Sulu taunted.

"Of course!" Patron laughed. More serious, he continued, "Point is, I don't like it, going into the planet. Only one team should go down at a time."

"I agree," Kirk said. "One team at a time. Have either of you seen anything that looks like a crack in the ground or some sort of gorge? Anything to get down into the planet?" The image on the viewscreen spun sickeningly, as Sge turned in place.

"No, sir. I don't see anything," Sge said, before turning to Pavel and Nils, who looked at each other and smiled.

"Zhat circle!" Pavel said. There was a sudden, deafening burst of static and a strangled yelp from someone Sge's camera couldn't see. Not that it could see that much, given the crisscrossing lines of white and grey that blurred the image.

"Sorry!" Brooke said, and then the static died down and the image cleared. "I don't know what that was. You were saying?"

"The metallic circle that we saw on our way down!" Nils said, as if he had been the one talking in the first place, "We dismissed it when we saw the buildings or vents or whatever those things are, but that circle was the one thing that wasn't cloaked on our way down! It's probably an entrance of some kind!" Nils exclaimed. He looked two seconds from hopping up and down like a bunny. "We're the closest to it! We should be the ones to go check it out!"

"I recommend," Sge said levelly, "that we regroup at the shuttle, rest for a little while. After we've rested we can fly closer to this circle you're talking about. I think it's a good idea to have a way out close to hand if that is actually the way down." Both Pavel and Nils nodded, and then Sge addressed the communicator in his suit instead of the people in front of him. "Team two, Enterprise, what is your assessment?"

"I think that's a good idea. Stick with it. Team two, what's your opinion?" Kirk asked.

Silence.

"Team two, do you copy?" Kirk growled. "Team two!"

The only sound on the bridge was the crackling of the comms over the speaker, almost like the popping of burning wood in a fireplace. It wasn't nearly as comforting, though.

"TEAM T- Brooke! Why aren't they responding?" Kirk demanded.

"I- I don't know, Captain. Everything is fine on this end, and according to our equipment their comms are still operational. It doesn't make any sense-"

The grid on the left side of the viewscreen, smaller than the video feed, flashed red. The image from Sge's camera shrank as the vitals grid grew without warning or prompting, taking up most of the viewscreen. Three vitals feeds were highlighted and flashing, heartrates elevated to dangerous levels. The radiation suits were reading impact damage, as well.

Bones dashed to the center of the room, transfixed, as the vitals of Patron, Nguyen, and Joanna flashed red over and over. And then, Patron's stopped blinking, instead fading to a dull grey. There was no warning or alarm. He wasn't dead. There would have been an alert if he was. Kirk didn't know when it happened, but Sulu was standing, too, staring at the viewscreen just like Bones. Joanna's turned grey next, shortly followed by Nguyen.

None of them were dead.

Their radiation suits had just… stopped transmitting.

After reading impact damage and elevated heartrates.

And after their comms had shut down.

None of them were dead, though.

That was what Kirk told himself.

It was all over in maybe twenty seconds.

"Enterprise! Enterprise, what's going on up there?" Brooke asked, and Kirk could hear frantic button mashing over the comms.

"Enterprise, what's wrong?" Sge demanded. On the now miniature video feed in the corner of the viewscreen, Pavel appeared stricken. Nils looked resigned.

"Team two's radiation suits have stopped transmitting. Return to the shuttle immediately," Kirk commanded.

"But what do we do when we get zhere?" Pavel asked.

"Get there first and then I'll tell you!" Kirk growled. Bones and Sulu were still standing and looking at the vitals gird; four blue and three grey. Sulu looked terrified. Bones looked like he had just been thrown over the side of a cliff and just realized he didn't have a parachute.

Kirk gestured Spock over to the captain's chair and whispered, "We need to send down another shuttle."

"Captain, I do not believe that is a wise-"

"Spock, just shut up for a minute. Something happened, we don't know what, now someone needs to go down there and make sure no one dies," Kirk muttered, standing up so he wouldn't have to speak as loud. He was going to make damn sure Bones did not hear this conversation.

"Captain, I think that the current away team-"

"Spock we _cannot_ get there instantly," he hissed. "We _cannot_ use the transporters. The shuttle is our only option right now, and it is entirely possible that this whole mission is going to go downhill in less time than it takes you to brush your teeth. It takes a full half hour to get down to that planet. Yes, they may have the problem solved by then, but I'd rather have to turn around than be even a second later than I have to be." He stared Spock straight in the eye. It felt like an hour before Spock nodded, but it could only have been a few seconds.

"I assume you are going to go?" Spock asked.

"Affirmative."

"And that there is no way for me to cite regulation and talk you out of it?"

"Affirmative." Kirk smirked. Louder, he continued, "Mr. Spock, you have the con. Sulu, Doctor McCoy, with me." He strode out of the room without even checking that they followed.

Five minutes later all three of them were on the smaller shuttlecraft 11, the Aster, along with Hendorff and Mariposa Raquel. Both of them looked deathly serious, which did not help Bones' or Sulu's moods any. They were ten minutes underway when they were hailed by the Enterprise saying that Brooke had stopped transmitting. Uhura also said that, though there was extra static, team one was still responding and on their way to the shuttle to investigate. Kirk ordered them to hold and stay where they were, but five minutes later, during one particularly long burst of static, both Sge's cameras and the comms of team one shut down. Uhura relayed the message to them in somber tones.

Lieutenant Pavel Chekov.

Lieutenant T'kao Sge.

Ensign Maximillian Brooke.

Ensign Kater Patron.

Ensign Sean Nils.

Ensign Xi Nguyen.

Ensign Joanna Whitten.

No one on the planet was responding.

-0-

 **MuahahahahahahahahaHAHAHAHAHA**

 **I know. I'm evil. But I hope you liked the chapter. I may split it up later when I edit the story, but since it's the anniversary of when I posted the first chapter, I felt like I should mark the occasion in some way.**

 **BUT HOLY MOTHER OF MEGAZOD, that was a lot longer than I thought it was going to be! I knew I wanted it to be long and have a lot of stuff happen (thank you for your patience), but I didn't think I would ever manage something like THIS! I mean it's a full NINTH of the total words on this thing! There are 28 chapters! Let that sink in.**

 **(1) This exchange was inspired by the episode Safe from Firefly. I highly recommend that show. The title was inspired by the definition of 'sanguine,' but when I heard the line in that episode, I knew I had to include a nod to it.**

 **Also, we finally got a "I'm a doctor, not a** ** _blank_** **," line from Bones, which is fun.**


	29. Chapter 29: Panglossian

**Ooomigoosh! Thanks so much for the reviews on chapter 28! I worked really hard on that chapter and the result was worth it, but the reviews made it so much better! You are all amazing! So, thank you readers and especially to reviewers! Every time I get an email about a new follow or favorite or review it makes me very, very happy!**

 **Alrighty, without further ado, here is chapter 29!**

 **Also, do not take the medical and poison knowledge I learned from an AP Chem class I took ages ago influence anyone's decision making process in the event you're poisoned. Just a little disclaimer so I'm not sued.**

-0-

Chapter 29: Panglossian

This was not how Uhura thought she was going to be spending her birthday. The earlier part of the day was… fine. She had woken up early to have tea and meditate with Spock for a few hours. There was a party. Scotty made pancakes. The Enterprise presented her with a challenging puzzle to solve.

Except she'd been awake for almost twenty-four hours, she'd left the party after fifteen minutes (and it hadn't been for her), she didn't get to eat the fluffy wondrousness of Scotty's pancakes, and she was pretty sure that she might have just indirectly killed seven people because she couldn't figure out what that maddening signal actually meant.

Yep. Not her best birthday ever.

She switched the screen of her console between the signal from when the ILCA was hacked and the communication link with the Aster shuttlecraft. Spock, sitting at his own station, had commandeered the viewscreen for his own extensive survey of the planet, not to mention the screen of his own console and no less than two clear boards on either side of the bridge. Vulcans did not usually "flit" from one thing to another, but Uhura could not think of any other word to describe Spock's movements. His stride was short but quick and his movements were precise, only just barely escaping the description of robotic. He sat down, stood back up, and slid from one board to another with an ease that made him seem born to this sort of stress and this sort of problem. Then again, he was born to it; he was Vulcan.

Uhura looked past his carefully controlled body language and tried to look for the human side of him. It was always there, no matter how hard he struggled against it sometimes. And he was struggling now, Uhura was sure. His eyes. It was always his eyes. She looked at his face and wondered how anyone could miss how worried he was, how afraid. Everyone seemed to miss it, though; the rest of the people on the bridge were looking to him for strength and leadership and that was what they found, so they had no need to look deeper.

Sometimes it was difficult to figure out what was going on in Spock's head, but that was what she was good at; figuring out the thoughts of others. It was even in her job description. Communication isn't just about knowing languages, it's about knowing people. Now was one of the easier times. The weight of the problem wasn't enough for him to get that sort of emotional look; this was his human side. Seven people went on that away mission, and Spock really only cared about one.

It wasn't Sean Nils or Kater Patron. Spock only knew Nils by name and couldn't stand Kater; the only time Spock tolerated him was when Hikaru was around. Of the three stellar cartographers that went, Spock only knew one in terms beyond work; though, the fact that Whitten was Bones' daughter barely factored into his assessment of her. It did on some level, so maybe that gave her a slight advantage over the other two, but that was about it. Max Brooke, Uhura liked and his contributions at work were exemplary, so Spock valued him for both of those things. That didn't necessarily mean that he _cared_ about him, though. That left Pavel.

A Vulcan and a Russian whiz kid walk into a bar… it sounded like the beginning of a joke, when really it was the beginning of a long and unusual friendship. It had been shore leave six months into their mission and Pavel's birthday, and the Enterprise stopped at a planet that was a tourist destination from all over the sector for its bright and sunny beaches. Logically, Pavel decided to celebrate his 21st birthday at a fairly nice restaurant with a bar at the beach. And then, logically, Spock felt the need to point out that the tradition of a large party where everyone gets absolutely hammered makes no sense anymore, since the Federation alcohol consumption age for humans had been changed to 18. Kirk told him that a party was always a logical reason to consume alcohol, and McCoy had chimed in that it was only logical if you were over the minimum age and were responsible. So far, so normal. Then everything went downhill in a way that included a pickpocket, a baseball bat, a monkey, and headaches for everyone that had absolutely nothing to do with the hangovers. Uhura had gone back to the Enterprise early, since her track record of drinking with James T. Kirk was not the best in the business, so she missed the whole debacle. She still didn't have the whole story of what happened, and never would, since Kirk did a good job of wording things as ambiguously as possible in the incident report. She could see the net result, though, and that was that Spock and Pavel became close friends; they'd always been close colleagues since they worked well together and both valued another set of eyes to look at a problem when it was necessary. But now, for an unfathomable reason, they were as thick as thieves, playing chess and solving equations for fun in their down time.

Nerds.

Long story short, Spock was worried about Pavel. And Uhura was, too.

Out of the blue, Spock's movements became just a little more furtive – if she hadn't been looking for it she would have missed it – and his eyes began to dart from one screen to another in quick succession. He spun on his heel and made his way back to his console where he furtively began compiling information. Charts and diagrams and equations flew onto the viewscreen before Spock walked, just short of a jog, over to her station.

"Lieutenant Uhura, what do you see on the view screen?" Spock asked quietly. She turned her eyes to the screen.

"A few different charts of radiation for the system, I guess," Uhura replied, narrowing her eyes at a black body radiation diagram and a chart of particle radiation. "It doesn't look quite right, but the system is weird. Why shouldn't its radiation be, too?"

"Mr. Scott and I altered the sensors to account for the warped space and the radiation from the stars. What you see there are the charts for the planet and only the planet," Spock said.

"That doesn't make any sense," Uhura replied, standing up and taking a few steps forward. "The peak EM radiation is supposed to be in the infrared for planets, not radio waves. This diagram has two peaks, though, one in radio and one in infrared, and the radio peak is a lot higher and narrower."

"Yes, and it is my assessment that only the infrared peak is natural. As for the radio peak, I think you'll be surprised as to its specific frequency," Spock said, and handed her a PADD. It took her two seconds for her eyebrows to shoot up to her hairline. Yes, she knew that frequency. She knew that frequency very well.

"Can you isolate the signal for just that wavelength?" she whispered urgently.

"Yes, I believe so. I'll send the records to you as soon as possible. But I have to ask, do the other diagrams mean anything to you?" Spock inquired. It was honest curiosity that made him ask, not anything vindictive, but Uhura couldn't help feeling like she was being challenged. Straightening her shoulders, she looked at the particle radiation diagram. There was something off about that, something familiar. She felt the itch between her shoulder blades to turn and deal with the problem she knew, but kept her eyes forward, focused on the viewscreen.

"Hawking radiation," she finally said, and from the way both of Spock's eyebrows went up and not just the one, she knew she had gotten it right. And that he was surprised she had. She could understand why – it certainly wasn't her area of expertise – but, still, she was a bit insulted; she could have hobbies! "The planet shares the same kind and proportion of radiation that surrounds a black hole, but not on the same scale."

"That is it, exactly," Spock replied. "Now the question remains, why is a planet giving off the radiation of a black hole, when it is not showing any seismic or gravitational anomalies that would be associated with the formation of one?" There was a moment of uncomfortable silence before Uhura had to ask about the elephant in the room.

"Red matter?"

Spock nodded, seemingly unaffected by the reminder of what had to be the worst day of his life. "A possibility, but without further information it shall remain unclear. I hope that the captain's team can provide us with more data now that we know what to look for."

"I'll hail them," Uhura said, and turned back to her station. "Shuttlecraft Aster, do you copy?" she asked. Earlier, she had made sure that the communication link was only audible at her station, so she didn't need to worry about anyone hearing the conversation who didn't need to. She and Spock had come to a unanimous and unstated agreement that until they had more information it was unwise to mention red matter or black holes inside planets to anyone who didn't absolutely have to know about it.

"Copy. This is Shuttlecraft Aster. What can we do ya' for, Enterprise?" McCoy responded. For some inexplicable reason, he was the one in charge of communications. Uhura figured he must have been antsy, which was why Kirk had given him the second of the three crazy signal boosters Scotty made instead of giving it to someone more qualified. Which was basically _anyone_ on that shuttle, not that she was complaining. The doctor was – usually – more affable than Kirk in the event of an emergency; Uhura was pretty sure that was from years of developing a decent bedside manner. Gruff he may be, but he was also comforting. For the most part. Once you got past the angry-at-everything-that-got-hurt-and-caused-hurt thing.

"Spock has discovered several interesting nuances to the readings of the planet. He and Mr. Scott managed to filter out the effects of the warped space as well as the readings of radiation from the stars. The planet has two peaks in blackbody radiation, in infrared and radio. The infrared we believe is natural, but the specific radio wavelength peak is the same as the problem we had with Ilsa. Additionally, there is particle radiation coming off the planet. It's Hawking radiation. Do you-"

"Yeah, I know what that means," McCoy grumbled. "Give me a minute." There was more grumbling – none of which was complimentary, and Uhura planned to have a talk with him later about that – and Uhura soon enough began to overhear snippets of conversation between McCoy and Kirk, the static ebbing and increasing with no discernable pattern in the back ground.

"…Hawking radiation, and that means-"

"Black hole, yeah, I…"

"… but what about…"

"…it's dangerous, though, and I can't…"

"…I'm not leaving her there…"

"…we have to tell…"

"You guys do realize this is a very small shuttle and we can hear every word you two are saying, right?" Sulu said, his voice carrying over the other two and cutting them off.

"It's generally considered good form to stop listening when two people are having a private conversation within earshot," McCoy replied, and Sulu just snorted. Of course, that may have been Hendorff, but Uhura was pretty sure it was Sulu, even if she couldn't see either of them.

"We're beginning our landing approach now. Hey, they were right. You can't see those giant building things from the air," Sulu commented – she was sure it was Sulu this time. Uhura tossed her head to readjust the small speaker she had in her ear and saw movement out of the corner of her eye. She stopped herself from jumping a foot in the air, as was her instinct, but didn't manage to stop the little jerk of surprise she did as she turned to look at Spock. He hadn't been there a few seconds before, but he _could_ be scarily quiet sometimes; it was a bit unnerving, actually.

"They're beginning their approach," Uhura told him, and turned back to her station. "They can't see those vents from the air, either."

"I have been investigating that matter as much as I can from here," Spock replied, and Uhura flipped the microphone on her headset around to face him, "and I believe that there are smaller warps around the planet, folding space and cutting it off so the light reflected off certain areas of the planet never reaches beyond a certain height. That would explain why the buildings are visible from the ground and not the air, and is well within the range of possibilities for such advanced technology."

"Did you guys hear that?" Uhura asked the shuttle, flipping the microphone back around as she did.

"Yes, ma'am, we did. Thank you, Lieutenant Uhura," McCoy said, an unidentifiable strain in his voice that made it sound like his vocal cords were being played like a harp. He sounded very close to the edge of his sanity, and Uhura began racking her brain for a way to make sure he held on long enough to find his daughter. Maybe then he could get back to normal. No, then he _would_ get back to normal; Uhura knew that.

"I'll let you know our altitude when we see one of the buildings. Or vents. Or whatever those things are," Sulu added in a much firmer tone of voice. Uhura wasn't exactly surprised he was holding up well, since he had always been resilient, but she was surprised that he was showing no signs of stress. Uhura hoped McCoy had enough of his mind on the mission to notice, and enough of his mind to spare to keep an eye on Sulu. Sulu wasn't Spock; he didn't pretend not to have emotions, so being so single-minded about the mission wasn't natural for him. There was a difference between professionalism and keeping your emotions on such a tight rein that they would explode later.

Telling McCoy to look out for Sulu, though, that would be difficult. Uhura didn't know if she could allow the risk of McCoy not noticing and Sulu snapping at an important moment; but, she also couldn't just say straight out that Sulu was endangering the mission. Maybe just a gentle reminder to all of them to keep calm and treat this like any other mission? Surely Kirk could use a reminder, and McCoy, too.

-0-

' _I really should have seen this coming. All I ask is for one damn mission to go as planned. That's it; that's all I want. Just one,'_ Kirk thought, slouched in his seat and bouncing his leg. After Sulu fell silent, Uhura didn't respond, and the quiet was a knife held between his shoulder blades; his slouch was in defiance, forcing himself not to sit as stiff and still as he felt he needed to. Despite that, every few minutes he would notice his shoulders had tensed, so he had to force himself to relax. Inevitably, though, looking out the front window at the planet started it all over again; the knife against his back, the forced slouch, and the slowly knotting muscles in his shoulders. And he didn't need a mirror to know that his brow was furrowed, the muscles in his forehead almost as knotted as those in his shoulders, but along lines that already existed. Early aging and wrinkles were the least you could expect as captain of the Enterprise.

Or not aging at all. Dying young was always a possibility.

The muscles around his rib cage tightened very suddenly at that thought, and for a moment he felt like they squeezed his stomach to the point of vomiting. He choked a little bit – not on vomit; he knew he wasn't actually going to throw up since he didn't have enough food in him to do that – and tried to pass it off as a cough. Bones, sitting next to him, was not convinced; Kirk could tell. Even though he wanted to keep looking at his CMO to convince him that everything was fine, he just saw Joanna's face in Bones' and had to turn away. An odd reaction, since he had known Bones so much longer, but he had just been thinking about dying young…

This time he did feel like he was going to throw up, empty stomach or no.

Seven people, all missing. Sge was forty-two, the oldest of all of them. After that there was a sharp drop to the second oldest, Kater, who was thirty. Everyone else was in their early to mid-twenties, none older than twenty-five.

"Jim," Bones snapped, and Kirk's head twitched up to look over at him in confusion. Bones sighed and asked, "Did you hear what Uhura said?"

"Uh, no. Sorry. I was thinking," Kirk replied.

Bones snorted. "That's a first." Instead of responding to Kirk's glare, Bones continued, "She was saying how unacknowledged tension or stress could ruin a mission and that we should all have a kumbaya moment, sing songs, and hold hands before we leave the shuttle."

"That was not what I-" Uhura started to protest over the comms, but Sulu cut her off.

"Hey! I see the vents!" he announced, and then rattled off the altitude. Kirk barely paid attention to it though, his head preoccupied with the sight of the giant structures out of the front window. He now understood why Nguyen had been so shocked; Sge's camera and the viewscreen did not do the buildings' enormity justice.

"Holy hell! They might as well be mountains!" Bones exclaimed, also looking out the front window. Even looking at them from a distance, there was no way to avoid the fact that they were gargantuan, dominating the horizon. It was hard not to look at them, not because of how impressive they were, but because of how much of the field of view they took up, regardless of which direction they looked.

The entire shuttle was silent again as Sulu continued to descend, the decreasing altitude making the vents look even taller as their perspective changed. When they finally reached the ground, even the vents with bases over the horizon seemed to be looming over them.

Even though the vents dominated the scenery, the one thing that no one could look away from once they landed was the Copernicus, sitting square in the center of the front window. Sulu had managed to get the shuttles almost nose to nose, and one thing was perfectly clear even before they landed: the hatch on the side of the Copernicus was wide open. The passengers of the Aster geared up without speaking, the only sound the rustling of radiation suits and the soft, blurry feedback coming from the speakers of the comms.

"Come on," Kirk said finally, and the other four trouped out after him, on to the flat, cracked dirt. Green clouds gathered in the distance over the vents. Kirk figured that if his current mood were a color, that would be it. He almost laughed at how perfect it was, but didn't. No one else would get the joke.

Even inside the helmet of the radiation suit he could hear the loose dirt shift and crackle, crunching like ice below the team's feet. It was a short but solemn procession that led to the Copernicus, a line of five walking slowly to the open hatch. Everyone was terrified but hopeful about what they would find in the shuttle. Kirk stuck his head into the dark interior and had to blink. After the distinct lack of dark shadows outside, it was shocking to find them in the shuttle; despite the ambient light that came in through the front window and the open door, the Copernicus was still dim and grey.

And empty. The only thing that indicated the away team was ever there, was the clunky box of the comm signal booster. (Unable to spare anyone to mind it, the Aster's signal booster was sitting pretty on its own, and everyone was hoping that it wouldn't need too much adjustment.) Other than the box, there was no one and nothing in the shuttle. Kirk took another few steps in and looked around at the seats and the pilot's chair. Now that his eyes were adjusting, he was beginning to see details, like little dents and scratches in the wall that had always been there. And a smear of something dark on the seat next to the comm box that most certainly hadn't been there before the Copernicus left the Enterprise.

"Bones," Kirk said, though there was no need. His friend had been right behind him and was looking at the smear with a face as blank as a forgotten canvas. It wasn't that Bones didn't have any emotions – far from it – it was just that Bones was so focused on his internal thoughts that his mind had just… forgotten to put anything on his face. It was an unusual kind of blank, one that Kirk had only seen a few times, and all of those times the expression had been on Spock, not the overbearing doctor that always had an opinion.

"Brooke's," Bones said, and the tricorder that Kirk hadn't even seen him take out disappeared back into the bag hanging at the CMO's side.

"Brooke's?" Sulu asked, who was still outside the shuttle, with Hendorff blocking his view through the door. "Brooke's what?" Mariposa, standing at the end of the row of seat, shifted so Hendorff could come in, and Sulu followed not a second later.

"Blood," Bones replied, gesturing vaguely at the seat. Kirk thought he heard Uhura's breath catch momentarily over the comms. Unaware or just ignoring it, Bones continued, "There's some blood on a seat in here. It's Brooke's. It's not much, and since we didn't see any blood outside and there isn't any more in here, we can assume the bleeding is controlled. What matters is what that blood means," Bones said.

"Yeah, the guy got stabbed or shot," Hendorff muttered, and hefted his phaser as if it weighed significantly more than the 12 ounces that a scale would show.

"Well, yes," Bones said, "maybe. But more importantly, his radiation suit is punctured. Luckily the air here is breathable, but the reason we're in these suits is to stop us from getting radiation poisoning or tissue damage. The signal from Brooke cut out about twenty-five minutes ago, so it's best to assume that's when… whatever happened, happened. So, we need to find him soon or else he could get really sick. Too sick to treat, even, if we leave him too long."

"Alright, so we'll look for Brooke first. Hopefully they're all together, so we can find them and then get the heck out of here. We'll look for evidence of what's causing the Hawking radiation on our way," Kirk said, wondering what Bones' real reason for haste was. He probably just wanted to find Joanna… Kirk berated himself for that thought; Bones didn't view being a doctor as a job, he viewed it as his life. He'd save whoever needed it, whenever they needed it, or die in the process. Kirk crossed his fingers and hoped that wouldn't even come onto the radar of possibilities.

"Ensign Raquel," Bones turned to look at Mariposa, standing in the corner, before nodding at the door and saying, "You're up."

Four foot nine, slight figured, and seemingly meek, she was about the least likely candidate for security that Kirk had ever seen. That didn't stop her from being one of the best, though. She knew the pressure points of every single known kind of sentient life, had the second highest accuracy with a phaser on the entire Enterprise, and her so called "meekness" hid a fast-moving mind with incredible threat assessment and response. She was also a tracker, which was a significant part of the reason she had been brought on the team in the first place. None of their equipment for tracking worked through the radiation and folded space around the planet, so they had to fall back on old-fashioned hunting practices, at which Mariposa happened to excel.

She didn't say anything, she just slipped past Hendorff and Sulu through spaces Kirk would have thought too small for any but the ferret, who was still up on the Enterprise. (Even though it had seemed determined to come with them. Kirk had to remove Prize from the Aster no less than three times before they could leave.) The other four members of the away team trouped after Ensign Raquel and tried to follow her out of the shuttle, but she held up a hand. "Stay where you are, and don't move," she commanded. Kirk would have protested at her giving the orders, but it made sense. If there was a trail to be found, Mariposa would find it, but only if the rest of them didn't screw it up any more than they probably already had.

"That way," she said abruptly, holding up a hand to point past the nose of the Copernicus toward a star hanging low on the horizon. Clip Beta. "At least three people. More likely four. One of them was limping and kept digging his heels in. It looks like that was Brooke. One was as light as Brooke and two were heavier, like they were weighed down by something."

"You got all of that from dusty footprints?" Bones asked in wonderment.

"In about five seconds?" Kirk added.

Sulu however, was not so impressed. "Are you absolutely sure?" he asked. Both Hendorff and Raquel gave him such a look of haughty derision that he actually blushed. "Sorry, sorry. You're sure. I get it."

And with that, Ensign Raquel dashed off at a fast jog, followed by the rest of them in a short, single-file line. When he squinted, Kirk could almost see what she was following. Almost. To him it just looked like dusty scuffs in the ground that he never would have seen if he hadn't followed Ensign Raquel's line of sight. They weren't right on the path, after all – even Kirk knew better than to do that. They followed parallel to the track, about two meters off to the side; it was close enough to see where it went or whether someone branched off, but it wasn't so close as to mess it up in the event they needed to backtrack. After a while, Ensign Raquel began to run. She wasn't exactly sprinting, but she wasn't reining herself in any, either. Kirk didn't ask why; she was trying to catch up to who they were following. If she wasn't trying to pace herself anymore, she must think that they were getting close. Hendorff and Sulu must have figured that out, too; Henorff had his phaser in hand and Sulu was loosening his in its holster. They weren't intentionally tracking a hostile, but whoever or whatever had hurt Brooke surely wasn't friendly.

"I see something," Bones said, squinting at the green horizon line. The dirt seemed to fade to grey in the distance and the sky's color just got uglier the farther away it got, nowhere close to the brilliance it had looking at it from the outside.

"I don't see anything," Hendorff replied. He blinked repeatedly and tilted his head, screwing his face up in a clear attempt to see farther than he could normally. "Nope, nothin'. You sure you see something, Doc?"

"Yes, I'm sure. And I can also tell you that it looks like at least three people, and two of them look like they're carrying… I don't know. Something…" Bones frowned at the line in the distance. "You know, I think we should run faster."

And then, without warning or reason, Kirk could see them, the figures Bones was talking about, small in the distance. One appeared to be dragged along, going as slowly as possible, while the other two appeared to be carrying… things… One of them was carrying something rather large and heavy… staggering under the weight…

"People." The four other members of the away team turned to look at Kirk as one. Bones was the only one who wasn't surprised. Ah. So, he had known; he just didn't want to say. "They're carrying people."

As quickly as Ensign Raquel's eyes had left the trail, they returned to it, scanning the ground faster as they quickened their paces to a true dash. They were all tired, but… who knew what those distant figures meant. They could be hostile, carrying captives. They could be the away team, fleeing, carrying their wounded. Or they could defy explanation and be something else entirely. Kirk would have sighed if he could have spared the breath. It was sad how often it ended up being the first or last options. Never were their encounters with people on strange planets actually friendly.

"The path splits!" Mariposa announced, suddenly, skidding to a stop. With one hand she pointed at the retreating figures and with another she pointed at a small outcropping of rock to their right, the only thing taller than three meters that could be seen for miles. "Two people went right, one returned, and went after the trail left by two other people. One person who kept going straight first was dragging their feet. I think it's Brooke."

Bones only hesitated for a second before sprinting to the rock with long, swift strides, and to Kirk's utter amazement, outpaced everyone as they made a mad dash to catch up.

There was a small split in the side of the rock pile which made a thin alcove, open to the sky. It was shady – shockingly so, for a planet so permeated with light – but the rocks seemed to emit heat, making an oven that made even the sweaty hell of open air on the planet feel cool. Kater Patron lay on the dusty floor of the alcove, unconscious, and Bones knelt beside him, med kit open and tricorder humming with comforting efficiency. Kirk could never be accused of playing favorites, appointing his best friend as his CMO, as he did, if that best friend was also the best doctor Starfleet had ever seen.

"He's alive. He's out cold, though. Looks like he was knocked out by a blow to the head, but he stayed out because of a mix of dehydration and… the hell?" Bones muttered. He flicked his eyes away from his tricorder, checked Kater's pupils and pulse, and then looked back at his tricorder. "How the… What?" he exclaimed and reset his tricorder. Scanning Patron again, he raised his eyebrows and muttered, "No, that's right. I don't know why, but that's right."

Kirk did not need the small choking noise that Sulu made to know that those kinds of comments were not going over well.

"Would you mind sharing with the rest of the class, Bones?" Kirk asked, hoping to keep Sulu from strangling Bones before they were all safely on the Enterprise again.

"Sure, but hell if I can explain it. He has a low concentration of solanine in his blood stream, which makes no sense," Bones shrugged. "He'll be fine in a few hours if we get him back to the Enterprise."

"Great," Hendorff deadpanned. "Now do you mind explaining what "sol-anime" is and why it's bad and why he'll be fine and why it doesn't make any sense?"

"You ever heard of nightshade?" Bones asked. Sulu choked again, spluttering as he looked at Patron's prone form splayed on the dusty ground. Bones blinked at him and then started again, "Okay, maybe that wasn't the best place to start. Nightshade flowers share a specific alkaloid with a few types of vegetables. These are called nightshade vegetables. Solanine," Bones sighed, "is an alkaloid which plants evolved to produce as an insecticide that's toxic to most living things, but to different degrees. It can occur in just about any plant, but it's most commonly found in eggplants or potatoes or things like that, either in the skin or just under it. The concentration it's usually produced in is so low that it doesn't really do anything when humanoids eat it, though, regardless of what planet they're from. Unless you eat something with a high concentration of it, eat them consistently, or have a sensitivity to it, you're generally fine and blissful in your ignorance. I happen to know for a fact that Orions don't have a more severe reaction than humans to solanine. The fact is, the unless he sat down and ate a bunch of organic, non-replicated potato skins, this doesn't make sense. In high enough quantities, solanine can cause permanent damage… paralysis and death come to mind, but it's rare. Plus, this concentration is just high enough to make him dizzy and out of it, definitely not high enough to kill him. It's also just enough to lower his core body temperature, which is why he's not suffering from hyperthermia right now, from sitting in this rock oven." During all of that, Bones had injected Kater with something clear, checked him over with a tricorder again, and then threw everything back into his med kit.

"You are a fount of knowledge," Ensign Raquel said. Kirk couldn't tell if she was being sarcastic or not, but her expression said she was bewildered. Sometimes the things that Bones spouted off did seem a bit like niche knowledge, though, so Kirk couldn't say he hadn't felt the same as she did at some point, confused and amazed at the sheer amount and variety of _stuff_ that Bones knew and could recite at the drop of a hat.

"If we took him back to the Enterprise and left him alone he'd be fine in about three days, with detoxing he'll be back to normal in a few hours. He may be a bit tired, but that's it. I'll take him back to the Aster. You guys keep after whoever those people on the horizon are," Bones said and hefted Kater up and over his shoulder fireman style, grimacing. "God, I hope he doesn't throw up on me."

"Sulu, go back to the Aster with Bones." When Sulu started to protest, Kirk cut him off with, "Get it ready to fly the second we get back. Don't ask me why, but I have a funny feeling that those people out there aren't friendly. Raquel, Hendorff: you're with me." Without waiting for anyone to respond, much less object, Kirk dashed out of the crevice in the rock.

He didn't look for the trail they had been following; he just focused on the retreating figures on the horizon – for some reason they looked like they were going even slower now – and flew. He was racing them to the horizon which was still a sickly green even next to the bright white of Clip Beta, sinking slowly toward that same distant line. He felt his toes barely graze the dry, dusty ground before pushing off again, launching himself forward. It was a nauseating few seconds when he remembered running like this before as a child, racing a different sunset on a faraway planet, with dirt of another color beneath his feet. The world didn't lurch around him, but his mind reeled when he remembered running in the ravine after treasures unknown and nonexistent.

He didn't know what had happened on this planet, and he really didn't care anymore. He just wanted his crew back, with as few toxic chemicals in them as possible.

-0-

 **Hooray! They found someone! Who will they find next, I wonder? (Actually, I don't wonder. I'm the author. I already know. Muhahaha.)**

 **Thanks again for the lovely reviews and follows and favorites and etc. I very much love whenever someone takes times out of their day to express appreciation for my story! It makes me all happy, warm, and fuzzy.**


	30. Chapter 30: Kakorrhaphiophobia

**HAPPY NEW YEAR!**

 **So once again, this story has had a large jump in followers and reviews, so I want to start out by saying hello to all of the new people! So!**

 **Hiiiiiiii, new people! Hope you enjoy the story! (And thanks for picking up on the many references I put in to amuse myself. It's nice to know that other people find those funny, too!)**

 **-0-**

Chapter 30: Kakorrhaphiophobia

As Mariposa and Hendorff both whipped out of sight around the edge of the rocks, Hikaru watched in fascination as McCoy easily and swiftly readjusted Kat, who was hanging over his shoulders. Who would have thought the doctor, of all people, was that strong? And how exactly did that happen?

"I work out, kid. That's how," McCoy said, spinning on his heel as he answered Hikaru's unvoiced question. Without pausing for breath or balance McCoy strode out of the rocks, blue shirt disappearing past the left side of the crevice. When Hikaru finally gathered himself enough to follow, he stumbled from the burning rocks back into the relative cool of the open air. The repressive heat from that stone oven made stepping into any environment like taking a walk in spring. He took a deep breath, even though he knew the air in his suit wasn't any fresher in one place versus the other; it was just psychological, but taking deep slow breaths and telling himself the air was fresher made him feel like he was back in equilibrium. At least somewhat. His world was starting to return to normal, though his conscience was telling him to turn and run after Kirk and the others.

Even with Kat found, and a major source of Hikaru's stress relieved, he couldn't relax fully. He was of the Enterprise and so was every person missing; as part of the away team he had a responsibility to find them. He could understand Kirk wanting to have a quick getaway and a waiting shuttle in case things went wrong, but he still felt like he was abandoning all six people who were still missing. As well as the other three, running after them. Maximillian Brooke was Uhura's friend, and after spending some time with him even Hikaru had admitted to begrudgingly liking both Brooke and the dog – Baxter – after he had his allergy shots. Baxter was up on the Enterprise, and shockingly got on very well with Prize, the remaining ferret. As far as the rest of the away team went… Nils was a bit of a jerk, to be honest, but he was one of Kat's best friends; he'd be devastated if Nils died. And even though Hikaru wasn't sure if he was supposed to know that Whitten was McCoy's daughter, he wasn't just about to let the guy lose his only kid.

Hikaru caught up to McCoy, who was still striding onward without any concession to the weight of Kat over his shoulders. But still, every one of Hikaru's instincts were screaming at him to turn around and help. There really wasn't anything keeping him with McCoy except orders; they were orders from the captain, but Hikaru didn't think anyone would mind if he disobeyed as long as he saved someone.

And then he turned his head to the right and saw the look on McCoy's face.

Suddenly and without reluctance, Hikaru made his final decision to stay. He didn't want to think about how, up until a few minutes before, his own face had looked like that.

Kirk hadn't made Hikaru stay with McCoy because Hikaru himself was unfit for the mission; in fact, now that Kat was found Hikaru was right as rain and ready to fight, if need be. Kirk knew that… and had still made him stay, because McCoy was in the same place Hikaru had been not five minutes before. ' _How could I be so preoccupied that I didn't notice?_ ' Hikaru wondered. ' _Why did Kirk even bring us?_ '

Hikaru turned his head to face forward, but still looked at McCoy in the corner of his eye. They'd been through a lot together; it was true they hadn't ended up best friends because of it, but there were some things you just couldn't go through without learning to appreciate one another. Defeating a mountain troll was one way. And all the other possible ways had – at some point or other – been discovered by the Enterprise and her crew; the command crew especially. They were a family, in ways that genetics couldn't describe but shared experiences could, almost. Shared life-or-death experiences, specifically, and they had those in spades. Pirates, robots, worm holes… robot pirates that came out of worm holes (don't ask), they'd seen it all. With the sense of family also came a sense of familiarity; seeing someone at their worst could be enlightening.

And with the sole exception of those few painful hours when they thought Kirk would die, Hikaru had never seen McCoy look so lost as he did now. Kahn had caused a lot of damage, but seeing McCoy's face, standing by Kirk's bedside after the transfusion of Kahn's blood, Hikaru saw true devastation. Losing someone once was hard; losing someone twice was nigh impossible.

"She's not dead," Hikaru said, and based on the way that McCoy managed to jerk even under the weight of a 6' 3" Orion, he'd say he hit the nail on the head. "We found Kat. He's fine. Your daughter will be, too." There was only one person he could be referring to, since only a single girl was on the original away team.

"Oh, so you do know about that. The way I figured it," McCoy grunted and readjusted Kat once again, "I thought the rumor mill skipped you. You never said anything about it before now."

"Not my business," Hikaru replied. McCoy seemed to wince at that, but that just as easily could have been from Kat's right foot kicking him in the ribs. "I mean, I heard all of the rumors, but not a lot of them were credible. Or remotely believable. Did you know one of them said she's actually Kirk's daughter and you just raised her?" He had been looking for a laugh and he got it.

"Ha!" McCoy barked. "I guess that's because they look _sooo_ much alike," he quipped. Hikaru had seen Joanna several times – she and Kat ran in the same circles – and every time Hikaru had been struck by how similar Joanna Whitten's and Leonard McCoy's appearances were.

"Well, she does have a lot of the same mannerisms," Hikaru replied, thinking of Joanna's smirk and slouch and serial philandering. How she managed to be one of the biggest flirts on the Enterprise without even being able to speak went over Hikaru's head entirely.

"That, however, should have sent the rumor mill buzzing about how she's my biological daughter, but Jim raised her. If it had any logic at all. Neither theory makes any sense, though," McCoy concluded.

"Why not?"

"Jim was only nine when Joanna was born," McCoy replied, and then laughed. "You know, she had her twenty-first birthday three months ago? And damn, did I feel old! I got her a stuffed kangaroo. I know it's weird, since she's an adult now, but when she was six they were learning about animals in school… It was first grade, I mean, what else are you going to learn about? She came home one day, carrying this picture book she'd borrowed from the library – I was off work that day, but hell if I can remember why – and it was one of those, you know, little kid books with the stupid, flat looking illustrations. The corny lettering, the big font. The whole nine yards. Honestly looked like it belonged in a preschool. Not her usual book at all. Well, she ran up to me, holding this book out in front of her with a big smile on her face and started begging me to read it to her. She kept jumping up and down, saying-" McCoy coughed and blinked, looking up at the sky. Hikaru knew he was blinking back tears, but instead of saying anything, Hikaru tilted his head up to look at the sky as well, with its green clouds hanging low in the distance. McCoy blinked a few more times and continued, "She kept saying 'I'm in the book, Daddy, I'm in the book!' So, we sat down on the couch and she climbed in my lap – she's always been tiny, but back then she looked like a doll; 'bout the size of one, too – and she held up the book. Nearly hit me in the eye with it, actually. It was a book about a mother kangaroo looking for its baby, but really it was about teaching children the names for baby animals, like bear cubs and goat kids and stuff like that. The mom kangaroo went through a zoo and a circus and most of Australia looking for her baby and when they finally got to the end, Joanna pointed at the baby kangaroo and said, all happy and bouncy, 'See, it's a Joey, like me!' And the next day she skipped school and I called in sick at work and we went to the zoo; she nearly got lost in the reptile house; I've never seen a kid so comfortable around snakes. Lizards scared the crap out of her though, and I'm not even going to pretend to know the reason for that; she was a weird kid. Anyway, I never told Rachel about the zoo trip, and she didn't notice. For about three months after that, if it didn't have kangaroos, Joey wasn't interested. Even now, kangaroos are her favorite animals. I'm not even sure if she remembers why…" McCoy's brow furrowed for a moment. "I went to her room to have tea a few days ago, and the kangaroo I got her for her birthday was on her bed." McCoy laughed, "I knew she still sleeps with stuffed animals!"

Hikaru felt his face smile and his heart break at the same time. Joanna Whitten may not be the best person in the world – Hikaru had always found her grey eyes unsettling and her demeanor cool, at best – but McCoy was the last person who deserved this.

Regardless of how old Hikaru had gotten, his grandmother had always treated him like he was eleven; it had been frustrating until he had learned to appreciate the fact that in her eyes he would always BE eleven. After that shocking revelation on his twenty-third birthday, he had always let her pinch his cheek and comment on how big he had gotten (even if his height hadn't changed an inch since he was sixteen). He was fine with it, even though he knew he wasn't a child anymore.

Losing someone close to you who was young, even if they were only young in your head, was… impossible. His thoughts flickered to Pavel just for a moment. ' _He's twenty-one_ ,' Hikaru told himself, trying to work past the knot in his stomach. ' _Not thirteen. Twenty-freaking-one._ ' No matter what, though, he still thought back to the scrawny barely-teenager who'd become his roommate eight years before. And to be honest, twenty-one wasn't that much better than thirteen for… that. ' _How the hell did that happen?_ ' he wondered, trying to figure out how Pavel had managed to grow up when Hikaru didn't feel like he'd aged at all. ' _The first time McCoy saw Joanna, she was a newborn._ ' Hikaru didn't know where that thought had come from, but he wanted it to go back there, preferably as fast as possible; he couldn't imagine your heart seeing a baby or a toddler when your eyes saw an adult capable of putting themselves in whatever life-threatening situation they chose.

The relief from finding Kat was short lived, dissipating in the face of the thin silence that was suspended between Hikaru and McCoy. Of course, Hikaru tried to pretend it was a normal walk and not one layered with implications of impending doom… but it didn't work. That fragile silence wavered; the dirt crunching beneath their feet, and they trudged back to the shuttle through the footprints of their first passage.

And then came a wave of intuition so great and so strong that it almost crushed him under its weight. The pressure was almost painful, and the desire to turn around and run back the way they had come wasn't really a want. It was a need, first and center in his mind and sitting like coals in his stomach, burning and urging him to turn around. To turn around and –

"Run." And without checking if McCoy even could run with Kat slung limply over his shoulders, Hikaru dashed, but not backward. He ran to the shuttle, still a half mile off, as fast as his legs could carry him.

Without pausing, he flung himself in through the open door and vaulted into the pilot's chair. Flicking switches and pressing buttons in an order more instinctive than conscious, he was more aware of McCoy stumbling into the shuttle of what he was doing. Kat was placed on the padded bench on one side of the shuttle while McCoy leaned against the wall, holding himself up with one hand and holding his side with the other.

"What," he gasped, "was THAT?" The shuttle door closed and then they were airborne, but only barely. They were skimming five feet over the ground, and going as fast as Hikaru dared back toward the rock formation where they had found Kat. "Why'd you run? Where are we going? What the HELL, Sulu!"

"They're in trouble. I don't know why or how or what or anything, but I just-" Hikaru cut himself off, grimacing at the controls in front of him.

"You think you're going fast enough?" For a moment Hikaru thought it was sarcasm, but then he realized that McCoy was being deadly serious.

"Yes. This is as fast as we're going to go this close to the ground," he responded, and McCoy nodded before adjusting the Med Kit hanging over his shoulder so that it was slung more securely across his chest. He also belted Kat on to the bench as securely as he could. Hikaru hoped that they wouldn't have to do anything crazy enough that would actually knock Kat off the seat, but he was glad of the precaution.

They sat in silence for thirty or forty seconds before McCoy started to ask, "When do you think we'll-" but he didn't get to the end of his question.

"I see them!" Hikaru announced, and then steered the ship slightly up and to the right, before veering suddenly to land. And land he did. Right in the middle of a firefight. Blue and red and – green? – streaks of light flew past the window and Hikaru could hear them hitting the right side of the shuttle. It might have seemed reckless to some, but he had seen what he was dealing with on the approach. Kirk, Hendorff, and Raquel were all crouched low behind some rocks to the shuttle's left which were not nearly high enough to provide decent cover, while two people – obscured by higher cover on much higher ground to the right of the shuttle – fired at them with green and red blasts.

"Green?" McCoy asked, voicing Hikaru's thoughts exactly.

"Apparently," he sighed, and not a second later the blasts hitting the side of the shuttle stopped completely. Hikaru had landed so the side of the shuttle with the door, the left side, was toward the rest of the away team, and so opened it to let the three of them in. Apparently, they had left what little cover they had as soon as Hikaru landed. As Kirk clambered in, followed by Raquel supporting a slouching Hendorff, Hikaru said, "Sorry. I would have landed behind them to take them out, but I'm only one person and they saw me coming." No one question why McCoy or the unconscious Kat weren't being counted as "people." Neither of them were going to shoot anybody, at least not in the immediate future.

"Believe me. You did plenty," Kirk gasped out, leaning with his back against the wall next to the door. He waved Bones away and pointed toward Hendorff, who Raquel had unceremoniously dumped on the floor. They appeared to be glaring at one another. "Follow them!" Kirk continued. "I don't know who they are, but I think they have two of the first away team!" Hikaru nodded, but not at Kirk. He was already focusing on the control panel and steering the shuttle up and over the rocks to the shuttle's right, having to fly about fifty feet up to get over, if only for his own peace of mind. The ground itself rose in a steep hill that was almost a cliff, though it was barely ten feet high; oddly, that was the largest altitude change Hikaru had seen so far. It was the rocks that made up the rest of the height; thirty feet tall, colossal monuments of stone, leaning against one another in a smooth arc. Each of the rocks was far taller than it was wide or deep, and from his vantage point, Hikaru believed that were arranged in a perfect circle on the edge a plateau. There were small gaps between the rocks' bases, but only some were large enough for a person to fit through.

Within the circle of rocks, though, they saw something interesting. The plateau itself was about a hundred feet in diameter, also a perfect circle, the rocks looming and casting indistinct darkness across the ground, greatly contrasting the incredible amount of ambient light everywhere else on the planet. In the center of the circle there appeared to be a small metal hole in the ground with a covering sitting next to it. The people, though, they were interesting. Hikaru couldn't see them – his eyes were adjusted to the incredible brightness of everywhere else, not the comparative gloom of this ominous tribute to Stonehenge – he could see their movements, though. Two dull figures lugging two other figures, these ones limp. The two active figures seemed to be of a height with one another, while one of the unconscious ones looked much taller than all of the others. As Hikaru began the shuttle's descent, the two people who were moving seemed to become that much more panicked, tugging at the unconscious people. Unanimously – or seeming so from Hikaru's vantage point – they abandoned the larger figure still draped across the ground and started running for the hole in the center of the plateau, each holding an arm of the smaller figure. They only made it ten feet before one of them tripped, and when they rose the other had already abandoned both the active and unconscious person in a desperate bid to reach the hole in the ground before Hikaru landed. By the time they had disappeared down the hole, the other had already risen and was running hard for the opening. Hikaru wanted to increase their landing speed, but if he did that any more than he already had, he doubted the shuttle would be able to take off again once they landed. Or if it did take off after that, it wouldn't be in one piece.

"Stun first, ask questions later!" Kirk snarled, pushing himself off the wall of the shuttle. Hikaru landed the shuttle as quickly as he dared and the compartment jolted; before the shuttle had even completely settled, Raquel and Kirk were out the door and Hendorff was struggling to get up from where McCoy was holding him down.

"Stay still! It's not bad, but you're not moving until I say so!" the doctor announced, and Hendorff, for all his charade of invincibility, nodded and slouched back down. Hikaru only saw that out of the corner of his eye as he leapt out of the shuttle after Kirk and Raquel; he skidded to a halt just outside, however, sending up a spray of ashen dust. Raquel and Kirk had split up, the captain running to the collapsed figures by the wall while Raquel approached the hole in the ground. Or, what had been a hole in the ground not three seconds before; covered with a dark metal hatch that almost appeared to have a touch of green to it, the hole where the two mystery figures had disappeared was now closed and appeared to be heavily bolted and fortified. Raquel began shooting the door with increasingly powerful phaser shots, but for all her effort, it wasn't budging or breaking or even burning.

Not optimistic about her chances of success, Hikaru turned instead to where Kirk was hunched over the closest figure; it was the smallest one. Although the light inside the circle was dim – almost dark compared to what he was used to – Hikaru could still clearly see that it was Joanna Whitten. Her dark hair fanned across the ground. Though she was still in her radiation suit, her helmet was gone; Hikaru hoped she hadn't been like that long. There were dangers to going too long without a helmet on that planet. Her eyes were closed and she was pale enough to seem almost dead, though there was a strong rise and fall to her chest that said she was still breathing; it was healthy breathing, as well, with no wheezing or coughing and the pacing was fine. Hikaru wasn't a doctor and didn't pretend to be one, since stepping on McCoy's professional toes never ended well for anyone, but except for the fact that her eyes were closed she seemed no less healthy than usual. Even if, dropped on the ground like that, she looked like a rag doll a child had forgotten.

Hikaru almost didn't need the cursory glance over to the second unconscious figure to know who it was. Pavel was in much the same state as Joanna Whitten, though he had more color to his face (Hikaru raised his eyebrows when he saw that one cheek was darker than the other). He also didn't look much like a rag doll, just like he was asleep.

Hikaru could feel Kirk's eyes on the side of his face and he turned to regard the captain. Kirk's expression was unreadable. Or rather, it was incredibly readable, it just had too many emotions to single more than a few out. Relief was one of the most prominent, but there was conflict, too.

Hikaru was unsure how it was decided, but the decision was made silently and unanimously. In less than two seconds they were both up and moving again, Kirk scooping up Joanna and Hikaru jogging his way over to Pavel where he lay by the edge of the circle. Upon closer inspection, there was a reason why one cheek was darker than the other. His right cheek had the beginnings of a bruise on it, like he had just walked into a door jamb; that had happened their second year at the Academy. Pavel kept telling him it wasn't funny, and his face got redder and redder and redder, and then on the right side it got blue and then bluer and then purple… Hikaru had laughed so hard he hadn't been able to breathe. Sprawled across the dusty ground, Pavel was breathing just fine, with strong steady breaths just like Joanna. Hikaru hauled Pavel over his shoulders and stumbled a little bit; Pavel was taller than him, though Hikaru would be the last to admit it, and his weight had pulled Hikaru off balance. After finding his feet and turning around, Hikaru saw that Kirk had already made it to the shuttle and Raquel was stomping away from a closed hatch that looked no worse for wear.

As he trudged back to the Aster, Hikaru took a brief look at the sky. Inside the circle, you couldn't see the distant vents or the green clouds hanging around their tops; there was just the sky, a color so pale it was close enough to white that it made no difference. The tops of the towering rocks glinted in the light, but at their feet were shadows, grey enough to make the shuttle's metal exterior seem cheerful. Hikaru flicked his eyes to the Aster and refused to look away and by the time he made it to the door he was walking as fast as he could, short of a jog. He didn't know who took Pavel's unconscious weight off his shoulders, but he was grateful when he collapsed into the pilot's seat at the front of the shuttle.

What else could this day throw at him?

"Aster…" there was static over the comms and all five conscious people aboard jumped. "Aster, do you copy?" It was Uhura's voice, just short of frantic. McCoy – who had been in control of the comms on the way down – glanced over at Raquel, and she leaned over to the comm booster box – or whatever that thing was – and hesitantly pressed a few buttons.

"Enterprise, this is Aster. We copy. What's the problem?" Raquel asked.

"The problem?" Oh no. Uhura was angry now. "The problem! We haven't had contact with you in twenty minutes! There was a burst of static and then you were just gone! All of the signals just cut out, like they did with the others! Radio silence, vitals grid greyed… Tell me you notice the lack of transmissions!" Uhura demanded. From the sheepish looks that Hendorff, Raquel, Kirk, and McCoy gave, they had all been just as wrapped up in the mission and their own problems as Hikaru had been and completely forgot about communicating with the Enterprise. "There's another shuttle heading down to the planet now. Did you succeed? Should we call it off?" Uhura inquired. Kirk sidled his way over to the comm box through an increasingly crowded shuttle.

"Hi, Lieutenant Uhura," Kirk coughed. "Slightly successful. Let the other shuttle keep going. We're leaving the planet now." Kirk paused and gave a significant glance at Hikaru who turned to face the controls. "We'll fill you in on our way back, but we found three of them. Chekov, Whitten, and Patron."

Keeping his eyes on the controls, Hikaru stopped himself from thinking about how Uhura probably wanted to hear the Brooke was one of the three. Those two had become good friends. Hikaru couldn't stop himself from feeling guilty, though; even knowing that they were friends, he still wouldn't have changed who was rescued so far.

-0-

 **Woo. So, that's another one down.**

 **On a not unrelated topic… This is chapter 30. And I'm not as close to wrapping this up as I thought I would be, chapter wise. Granted, we're close to the end of the** ** _plot_** **… but there's no telling exactly how long that end will take in terms of chapters or word count.**


	31. Chapter 31: Revelation

**And we're back into the fray!**

 **Check out the chapter name. wink wink. nudge nudge.**

 **Oh, hey! I forgot to mention (because I didn't realize it at the time) that this story now has over 100,000 words! Woo hoo! Thank you for the response this story has had! I never would have gotten this far if it wasn't for my fantastic readers!**

-0-

Chapter 31: Revelation

The entire situation was distinctly _unenjoyable_.

"Mother puss buckets," McCoy muttered. He didn't know where it had come from, maybe he had heard it in a movie or something, but it felt like an appropriate expletive. And it wasn't a cuss word. Christine had talked with him about that, cursing where patients could hear; he tried to tell her that it was actually soothing to the more profanity-inclined members of the crew, but she would have none of it. On the bright side, it gave him something to do in his idler moments; coming up with combinations of words that sounded suitably profane – but without the actual meaning of curse words – was entertaining. He may publish a dictionary of the phrases he'd come up with over the past few weeks, if he ever got the time to sit down and do something so simple as _write_ them instead of patching up the entire crew on a regular basis.

"I like that one," Jim remarked, perched on the edge of the shuttle's seat. "Can I use it some time?"

"Yeah, sure," McCoy grumbled. "But don't cite me as the source. I don't think I came up with it." Jim smirked and peered over McCoy's shoulder.

McCoy was sitting on the uncomfortable and cold floor of the shuttle, back to Jim, where the CMO could keep an eye on Pavel. With Patron on one bench, Joey on the other, and Pavel lying on an unused radiation suit on the floor, there wasn't a lot of room for the remaining members of the away team. Luckily, Joey was short and didn't cover the entire bench, so the injured Hendorff, regardless of his protests, got the lone whole passenger seat in the entire shuttle. Sulu was similarly blessed, sitting pretty in the cockpit, piloting the shuttle and making sure no one in it ended up scattered nine ways to Sunday across the whole of the system. Jim sat on the edge of the bench opposite Hendorff, pushing Patron's feet toward the back of the seat, so the security officer was skewed diagonally across the bench, head close to lolling over the side. Mariposa was cross legged in the back corner and was playing with a few strands of Joey's hair that fell over the edge of the bench, though she didn't seem to realize what she was doing. So, there Mariposa sat, the low light bouncing off her forehead and cheeks, leaving her eyes in dark shadow. McCoy thought he could tell where she was looking, though. Which was nowhere. Even if he couldn't see her eyes, he would have bet almost anything that they were unfocused and glassy.

' _I really, really hope that's not because of a concussion_ ,' McCoy thought, gritting his teeth. "What'cha thinkin' about, kiddo?" he asked, as nonchalantly as physically possible for him, and Mariposa leapt at his voice.

"Oh, uh," she seemed to realize she had braided a bit of Joey's dark brown hair and hurriedly ran her fingers through it to separate the strands. "I was just thinking… about the foot prints. Someone went down the hole before the two we saw."

McCoy blinked. That was not what he had been expecting. "Well. Alright, then."

"I think it was Brooke," she continued.

McCoy's eyebrows shot up. That really was not what he was expecting.

"So you think _Brooke_ , of _all_ people, was involved with shooting at us?" Jim demanded.

Not surprised at Jim's outrage, but exasperated nonetheless, McCoy just shook his head; Mariposa's tone had not been accusatory, and he knew for a fact the Mariposa and Max Brooke got along like a house on fire. They had a similar sense of humor, and once when Mariposa had been injured, Christine had to chase Brooke out of Medical and put him under threat of sedative if he came back. The dermal regenerator had been undergoing repairs at the time, so Mariposa had to put up with a few days of good ol' stitches; Christine had been worried she was going to pull them if she kept laughing. McCoy still felt bad about that. He thought it was part of the reason Mariposa had been so scared of him up until recently… that was why he'd had to give her one of the lollipops he kept for emergencies the last time she came to Med Bay.

"No," Mariposa stated. "I do _not_ think Brooke was helping them. I also think that he was made to go into the hole under duress before Sulu got there with the Aster."

Sighing, Jim rubbed his face before running his hands through his hair a few times; it was greasy and in bad need of a wash, McCoy noted. But that made sense. It had been a while since any of them had gotten a chance to shower. Or eat. Or sleep. "Sorry for snapping," Jim said.

McCoy blinked. Again. ' _Should I get that looked at?_ ' he wondered. ' _No, of course not. I'm a doctor. I should know this. Not a problem... God, do I need a good cat nap.'_

"We'll talk more about what you saw later, Mariposa," Jim said. He looked to the front of the shuttle and past Sulu's head, out into the perpetual night. "As it is, I think-"

"We're approaching the Enterprise, Captain," Sulu called back to them, and McCoy took his first look out of the front window since leaving the planet's atmosphere. The Enterprise, growing larger by the second, gleamed white against the speckled background of distant stars. They had officially escaped the warped space around the system, then, which did wonders for McCoy's stomach; even being unable to see the warps, knowing they were there was enough to make it feel like someone had taken a stick and was poking his stomach like they thought it was dead.

He snickered slightly. Everyone looked at him like he was crazy, and he could only shake his head, stamping down a smile.

One time – Joanna must have been nine – they had been standing in the kitchen, and McCoy was trying to convince her to try drinking hot tea for the first time. Joey was under the impression that tea was a drink best served cold, which McCoy, despite his southern roots and undying love for iced tea with lemon, was more than slightly appalled at. And then came a brown blur, loud thump at the window, and tea of every kind was flying everywhere. Drenched and sticky, they had both run onto the back porch and tried to figure out what exactly had made that noise; it didn't take long. On the wooden deck, next to the kitchen windows, there was a bird.

A dead bird.

A very dead bird.

A _very_ , very _dead_ bird.

McCoy did not win parent of the year award for what occurred after that. Instead of ushering Joey inside and insisting she go upstairs to take a shower to get rid of the tea – and while she was occupied, disposing of the avian corpse – he bent over the bird, hoping against hope that it was just playing possum, despite being the wrong species. He then determined that it was, in fact, dead. Very… very… Dead. With an uppercase 'D.' And he didn't even have to dip into his medical knowledge to determine it. You just could not hide that much _deadness_ , not from him, and certainly not from a precocious nine-year-old. And being nine years old, Joey did what any child would do: pick up the closest twig and start gently poking the corpse. After about five seconds of this, Joey turned to him, with a face and voice too sweet for words, and said, "I don't think it's polite for things to die after they knock on your window." She looked back at the bird corpse and pouted. "Bad birdie."

And then she jabbed it with the stick again.

What he did next was what sparked a marital argument that lasted a good two hours and a silent treatment that lasted two weeks. He _laughed_. So loudly and vehemently that Joey started laughing, too, sitting right down next to bird corpse giggling in a way that could only be described as maniacal. Of course, this only made McCoy laugh harder, and by the time Rachel came out to ask what was going on, both of them were laughing through tears.

Thus, whenever he even thought of the phrase "poke it with a stick," he was reminded of the smell of tea and the sight of an adorable little girl poking a dead bird with a twig, not to mention the vindictive pleasure of doing something that drove Rachel right off her rocker. Not that she had _ever_ been very firmly seated in it.

The Aster sat down with a gentle jolt; no matter how many shock absorbers you put on something and no matter how good the pilot, there was always a jolt, at least that McCoy had noticed. No one else seemed perturbed, so he supposed they thought it was all just in due course. McCoy thought that it didn't have to be and wondered vaguely if Scotty would work on that if he asked him nicely.

McCoy was the first one off the shuttle, head whipping from side to side, trying to spy the three gurneys he asked for on the way up. He didn't have to look for long; there they were by the doors, Christine, flanked by two nurses, ready and raring to go. As soon as she saw his quick nod, she gestured for the other two to grab their stretchers and follow her, already steering hers over to the shuttle.

"Solanine?" was how she greeted him. "Really? How the- well, never mind. It can wait. Med bay's already set up for detoxing when we get there, so they should be up and about in no time. But, seriously, solanine? All three of them? It would have to be an injection, wouldn't it? Or some sort of force fed tablet, maybe?" Christine only talked that much when she was nervous; McCoy had to wonder why and whether it was because she was worried about Joey. Normally, injuries (and all the weird stuff that happened when you were on board the Enterprise) didn't even come close to phasing her; she wasn't a 'roll with the punches' kind of woman, she was a rock. Steady and stern. It couldn't be the nature of the poisoning that was making her jumpy, since in the grand scheme of things they'd seen a lot worse. It had to be Joey.

"By the way," Christine started, strapping Joanna onto one of the gurneys while the two nurses worked on lifting a limp and uncooperative passed-out Orion onto one of the other two. "Did you give Nurse Frost some time off? I haven't seen her all day and her shift just started." Or maybe it was just the fact that she was understaffed and McCoy was mentally imposing his worries on her just to make himself feel better about freaking out.

"No," McCoy grumbled. "I did not. Call someone in who hasn't met their max hours for this week. We'll put Frost on report when we're done with whatever is going on here. I don't feel like dealing with her and I really don't want to go out of my way to find that… hyena." He was about to say a considerably less polite word, but there were other nurses nearby. Sure, his general dislike for Frost was known, but he didn't mean to have the rumor mill gossiping about how much he really despised her. Like she was the devil incarnate. Which he was not entirely sure was untrue.

"Done and done," Christine snorted.

And then they were off, dashing through the halls (' _on a one horse open sleigh,_ ' McCoy couldn't stop from adding, if only to himself) until they made it to Medical.

"So." Kirk sidled up to Hikaru, who was waiting outside the doors to Med Bay. Clearing his throat, Kirk asked, "How goes it?"

Hikaru snorted and ran his hands through his hair, not a normal nervous habit for him by any means; it was, however, an abnormal situation and so justified. "Been better," he sighed, "if you like overused answers. Been worse, too, if you like clichés. I'm just… waiting, I guess. For an explanation." He scoffed. "God knows I don't know how to find one. They ever figure out anything about that Hawking radiation?" Hikaru lowered his voice, glancing both ways down the hall, even though the only people who were on that floor of the ship were actually inside Med Bay. Everyone else wanted to be as far away from McCoy as possible, a smart idea that Hikaru would have had as well, if there weren't at least two people he cared about behind those doors. "We kind of forgot about it while we were down there."

"We had other priorities," Kirk replied, just a bit too quickly. He'd been rehearsing.

"If you want that explanation to go over well with the powers the be, you'd better slow it down, motormouth," Hikaru said, fighting to concentrate on the conversation. He really didn't feel like talking.

"The team that's down there now is keeping an eye out. Spock's in constant contact with them and Uhura is monitoring the connection from the lab." Kirk leaned against the wall even as Hikaru could feel his own nervous energy begin to build. He needed to take a walk.

"Look, McCoy said it'll be a while before they wake up, a half hour at least," Hikaru said, pushing himself off the wall. "I'm going to go, uh, talk to Uhura. See if there's anything I can do to help."

"Sure. See you later." Kirk smiled and turned to enter Med Bay, and Hikaru walked down the hall toward the turbolift.

It was a quick trip, as can be expected from anything using the name "turbo." In no time at all, Hikaru was striding down bright hallways to the small lab that Uhura had sequestered. With Brooke missing, she was on her own with the signal; because of the hack on the ILCA, she was trying to keep as many of the communication specialists out of it as possible. That may seem a bit stupid, but who would know better how to tamper with the ILCA than them? Brooke was the only one who Uhura trusted, since they had been working together at the time of the hack and that eliminated him as a suspect.

When Hikaru entered the lab, Uhura was staring at a computer, mouth half open. The only illumination she had was from that screen, white light bouncing off her face and the wall behind her; the rest of the room was swallowed in darkness with indistinct corners, and in one of those dim corners there was a shadow that was probably a potted plant but also _maybe_ could be a sea monster that someone had replicated and dumped there. Hikaru was fairly sure it was the first one.

"Do you understand _exactly_ how stupid I can be?" Uhura asked him, without looking up from the screen.

"No. As I understand it, you're really smart," Hikaru replied without hesitation.

"Ha!" Uhura exclaimed, finally letting herself lean back in her chair, never taking her eyes off the computer. "Come look at this!"

Hikaru walked over, tentatively peering around the edge of the screen so he could see what was on it, the light hurting his eyes after the dimness of the rest of the room. When he saw what the screen held, he brightened considerably. Pun intended.

"Is that the mystery signal!" he exclaimed. Uhura nodded.

All things considered, it was an underwhelming way to find out that the source of all these problems was discovered, if not interpreted yet.

On the screen were black symbols on a white background. They were black rectangles, made of smaller black squares, like overly large pixels. The symbols seemed to be half as wide as they were tall, and each had a different pattern of squares that were filled in versus those that were empty. Hikaru did a quick tally; it looked like horizontally there were eight potential spots on each row and vertically there were sixteen in each column. One hundred and twenty-eight different blocks.

Hikaru couldn't do the permutation in his head, but there were a lot of different combinations that could be made out of a writing system like that.

And a writings system it was. Even without any experience in linguistics, Hikaru could tell that each of the blocky symbols were letters. Not that he could read them. It was… oddly familiar, though. "That's great! But, what language is it?" He couldn't think of anything else to fill the silence. Absently, he wondered if he was in shock.

"I don't know, and just having the letters doesn't do much if we don't know what they mean," Uhura growled. "Plus, this isn't the ILCA signal. This is a repeating signal that's hidden in that peak radio wavelength in EM radiation coming off the planet. But now that I know the trick of it, I should be able to do the ILCA signal, too."

"What's the trick?" Hikaru asked. Business as usual. ' _Yeah_ ,' he thought, eyes flickering over to the shadow in the corner that could be a small, tendril-ly monster. ' _I'm probably in shock. Should I get that checked out?_ '

"It's a transmission of an 8-bit image. Not letters, like Morris code, or sounds," she said. "I don't know why I didn't think of it before. You should probably go. Spock is going to be here in a minute and he's going to be asking a lot of long, boring, technical questions."

Hikaru nodded and walked to the door, even though Uhura still hadn't taken her eyes off the screen. There _was_ something familiar about those symbols; he was probably crazy since not even Uhura knew what they meant or seemed to know what they were, but still the thought tugged at him, telling him to turn around and look some more, even as he made his way to the exit. Hikaru paused in the doorway, light from the hall spilling into the room and showing that, yes, that shape in the corner was in fact a potted plant, even if it was unusually blue. There was still something… he turned around and looked at the room again, now that he could see some details. Uhura was still sitting at the desk, staring at her screen, but the room's stark walls and furniture were a bit clearer. There was nothing special about the room; linguistics labs didn't exactly have a large amount of equipment, tech, or bubbling cauldrons. Those were in the science labs.

Hikaru opened his mouth before turning away and walking out of the room, the door slipping shut behind him, shutting him off from the lab entirely. It probably wasn't important. What could he possibly know that would help, anyway? He wished his instincts weren't screaming he was wrong.

It was then that Hikaru realized that he had nothing to do and no real distractions. There was a console down the hall, blinking yellow. When had they gone into yellow alert? Probably after the signals from the first team cut out. For a moment, he wondered why he hadn't noticed before telling himself off; he knew very well why he hadn't realized. Paralyzing fear did that to you.

It took him a minute, but before long he realized he was walking toward the crew quarters. He huffed another sigh and decided that while he was there he might as well get Kat a change of clothes; the standard issue sweats that Med Bay sent you to your room in only looked flattering if… Hikaru's brow furrowed. ' _You know, I can't think of a single person who looks good in those things_.'

Approaching Kat's door, he told himself off once again. ' _Come on, what's wrong with you? You just got the news that this whole problem could get a lot clearer if Uhura can translate that stuff.'_ Kat had a lock on his door and Hikaru punched in the code, using more muscle memory than any real cognitive function. The door slid open with a tiny whoosh, and he stepped into the room. _'And she probably can translate it, at least eventually, because she's Uhura. She's smart._ ' Hikaru shook his head and blinked, and not just because the lights in Kat's room were off. "Lights on," he said, and the room jumped into view. ' _What_ is _wrong with me?_ ' he wondered, and shook his head again. "Come on, Hikaru, get it together," he commanded, staring at a bookshelf that had more cases for discs than anything else.

Kat was a fan of the old time-y version of data storage, using discs for everything instead of keeping everything on just the computer. Hikaru had made fun of him for it, saying he was paranoid; Kat had just joked that he would rather be safe than sorry, and kept everything in at least two places. Sometimes three. Every month Kat sent out a copy of his reports in a data burst, exact replicas of what was saved on his discs and in the ship's computer. Kat did that with everything he considered important. He even did it with their pictures, of which there were many. Kat had a knack for photography. Hikaru had suggested he go to art school when he left Starfleet; sometimes Hikaru wondered about that. When Kat left, would he? The thought was terrifying. And the answer was no. At least, not yet. Sometimes, very rarely, Hikaru wondered if those feelings would ever change; he didn't think so. He would wonder, was it worth it? Where was the line? If Kat asked him to do something, where was the furthest extreme than he was willing to go?

"What is wrong with me?" Hikaru asked the room, falling into the desk chair. Kat always pushed it in. Hikaru wondered why it wasn't under the desk where it was supposed to go. Then he wondered if he had pulled it out without realizing. Or maybe Kat had just forgotten to push it in. It could happen. Even if it hadn't as long as Hikaru had known him, it could happen.

His eyes fell on Kat's desk drawer. He kept paperwork in there. Actual, physical paperwork. An unusual habit, but Hikaru had actually found it cute. Both of them like the smell of paper and ink; PADDs didn't have the same personality.

That feeling he'd had in the lab, that feeling of something being familiar, tugged at him again, prodding at his head and gut. He closed his eyes, his head fell into his hands, and he had to stifle a groan. When had he gotten a headache?

' _The signal_ ,' he thought. ' _Think about the signal. What is it? Why do I recognize those letters?_ ' This time he had to stifle a growl. Why was so much happening at the same time? Why did he feel like everything was falling apart? ' _Okay, forget the signal, then. Just get Kat some clothes and then go back to Med Bay. Maybe have McCoy check your head out_.' Hikaru nodded to himself. Yeah, that was a good plan.

He tripped his way over to the dresser, even if the room was pristine and the floor was perfectly smooth. He began grabbing random articles of off-duty clothing and hoped that Kat wouldn't mind too much that they didn't match. Hikaru began digging for a pair of socks in the top drawer. He didn't know why he was digging; there were clean pairs sitting right on top, black, brown, dark green, light green, and white. In that order. Still, he stuck his hand to the bottom of the drawer and pulled out a pair of socks, and old black pair that had a hole in the heel of one of them. He felt dizzy. Hikaru put a hand on the top of the dresser and wondered when it had gotten so close to his face. Then he realized he was leaning over. ' _Right. Med Bay. Now_.' His only coherent thought. He turned toward the door, only to turn back to the dresser when he realized he'd left the drawer open. Kat never left drawers open.

He froze. There. Right in the middle of the pile of socks. A corner of a rumpled piece of paper, sticking out from where there were normally perfectly arranged rows of black, brown, dark green, light green, and white. In that order.

He knew where he'd seen the letters before.

His trip back to the linguistics lab may have been short, it may have been long; for all he knew, he took a full trip around the Enterprise before getting back to where Uhura was staring at the screen of her computer, this time joined by Spock, a quizzical expression on his face. They both looked toward the door though, after Hikaru stood in between the hall and room for a good minute without moving or saying anything.

Hikaru could actually see the room this time. Spock had turned the light on, apparently. The lab was now as starkly white as the halls, except for that potted plant in the corner. It looked green, now.

"I found it," Hikaru said, though he didn't remember telling his mouth to speak. "I found it months ago, and he told me that it was just a secret language he and his sister made. It was in his desk, right next to all of his other papers. I didn't think it was that interesting. It wasn't there the next time I was looking for some paperwork for him. I didn't think it was important." He held out the crumpled sheet of paper with his left hand and only then realized he was still clutching the change of clothes to his chest with his right arm. When had he grabbed the paper?

"Mr. Sulu," Spock said. "Are you well?"

Uhura didn't say anything, but there was the look of dawning understanding on her face; she stood to take the paper ball from him. Smoothing it out on her desk, her shoulders slumped down. Looking up at the room was black ink on white paper, making rectangles out of squares so painfully similar to what was on the screen.

"He hid it in his sock drawer," Hikaru laughed. It was a hollow sound, bouncing off the empty walls. "Isn't that funny?" His face was wet, he realized, but he didn't wonder why. He only wondered when he had started crying.

-0-

 **I'M SORRY, OKAY? Dang it, Sulu, with your heart of gold!**

 **I feel really bad about this.**

 **Anyway, have any theories? I'm interested in what you guys think is going to happen.**


	32. Chapter 32: Neuro

**Not sure how to describe this chapter.**

-0-

Chapter 32: Neuro

Pavel was only half awake, with one eye kept closed by sleep crusted across his lashes and the other squinting, though he didn't know why. Head lolling to the side, he could see… someone… over to his right. His mind struggled to work again through pain dulled by exhaustion; despite that, he knew that soon, very soon…

He was going to have to slap a bitch. He'd heard that phrase in engineering once. He hadn't liked it at the time but he supposed his opinion was going to change.

"Karu?" Pavel mumbled. His best friend was sitting in the chair next to Pavel's bed – gurney? Biobed, maybe? Where were they? – and Hikaru's head was in his hands. He was… crying? So, that was why Pavel knew he was going to have to slap someone. Apparently, his conscious mind was having a little trouble keeping up with his instincts. "Karu?" Pavel rolled to his side, trying to prop himself up despite the fact that it felt like all of his limbs were tied to weights in a very deep pool; he floated, suspended in the grey, and couldn't reach the surface where the sunlight was trapped. "Are you oka- Ah!" Pavel hissed as he felt pain like a needle punch through his temple and lance across his left eye. "Ngh… That hurt."

"Pavel?" That was Hikaru's voice. Pavel looked back up just in time to see him scramble out of his chair to lean down next to the bed. He had procured a glass of water from somewhere – Pavel hadn't seen it anywhere a few seconds before – and was forcing it into his hands, though Pavel made no effort to hold onto it. ' _Ah, there's the light_ ,' Pavel thought, squinting again, this time against the glare bouncing off the glass rim of the glass that Hikaru held. "What happened? Do you have a headache?" Hikaru frowned down at Pavel before looking at the cup, and Pavel grabbed it for no other reason than to stop the lecture that he knew was coming; Hikaru could be worse than McCoy with lectures and just as hypocritical. Hikaru cleared his throat anyway and commanded, "Doctor McCoy says you're supposed to push clear liquids, so drink your water."

Pavel complied, taking a sip and blinking against the harsh white of the room. When Pavel set the glass down, balanced precariously on the uneven, thin mattress, Hikaru grabbed his chair and dragged it closer to the biobed – which was in Med Bay on the Enterprise, Pavel noticed, now that he had the mental faculties to register it. Unfortunately, that also meant he had the mental faculties to remember what had happened on the planet and why he had a splitting headache stabbing through his eye and the left side of his brain.

"Hikaru! There's something-" Pavel threw himself into a sitting position and regretted it as soon as the full force of Medical's lights hit his eyes; water flew everywhere and his left hand flew to his temple, clutching the side of his head in such a way that he had the added benefit of covering his eye. The glass clattered to the floor, remarkably whole, sending staccato clangs ringing through his head. " _Ow_. _Ngh_ … Hikaru, where is Captain Kirk? Or the Doctor? Or Spock?" Pavel did his best to wriggle his way out of the biobed even as Hikaru was doing his best to wrestle him down. Pavel knew it was in his best interest to listen to what Hikaru was telling him to do, but it was in everyone else's best interest if he got up and found the captain as soon as was physically possible. "Hikaru, no! I need to talk to-"

"Pavel, you stay in the biobed-"

"No!"

"Doctor McCoy told me to-"

"This is important, Karu!"

"-keep you there until he was able to-"

"Let me up!"

"-take another look at you!"

"Just-"

"And you are going to-"

"Karu!"

"-stay there until he gets back!"

"Karu, you're being-"

"He found something else in your blood, Pavel!" Hikaru shouted, and all of the nurses who were dashing across the room to stop the fight froze in place. Pavel struggled for a few more seconds before he processed what Hikaru had said, movements slowing before peering at him in confusion.

"Something? What?" Pavel asked, before shaking his head. The pain was making it difficult to focus on more than one problem, but he had his priorities. "No, it doesn't matter. I have to see-"

As Hikaru opened his mouth to argue, the doors at the front of the room slid to reveal McCoy, striding into his domain with a hypospray in one hand and a PADD in the other. "Yeah, yeah, kid. You need to see me, Spock, or the Captain. Nurse Chapel sent me a message as soon as you two started tryin' to kill each other." He stopped at the foot of Pavel's bed, crossing his arms and looking both of them dead in the eye. "Don't do that, okay? Least not in my ward," he grumbled. "You're lucky I was on my way here anyway. Could've hurt yourself."

"But Dr. McCoy! I have to talk to you about-"

"No, you don't. At least not in the next few minutes." McCoy stopped, his brow furrowing. "You have a headache, kid? Why're you clutching your head like that?" He walked down the left side of Pavel's biobed, pulling out a tricorder that started to whir; Pavel noticed Hikaru turning his chair back over and sitting in it. ' _When was his chair flipped?_ ' It was a vague thought, floating somewhere in the right side of Pavel's brain, chased there by radiating lightning centered in his left temple. "Okay, kiddo," McCoy murmured, pulling away the blinking tricorder; stomach twisting, Pavel realized that he hadn't actually noticed McCoy scanning him. His brain just couldn't latch onto any facts and keep them in one spot for more than three seconds together. "It's just a residual headache from the concussion. Don't worry," he hummed. "We already treated it."

"Are you sure?" Pavel asked. McCoy looked… startled?

"Why do you ask? You okay?" McCoy grabbed a chair identical to Hikaru's that was sitting next to the biobed to Pavel's left. There was someone in that biobed, though Pavel couldn't see who it was past McCoy's head and shoulders.

"I'm… dizzy?" No, that wasn't the right word. "Diz… dis…"

"Disoriented?" Hikaru supplied. Pavel turned his head to look to the right and winced, nodding at Hikaru. Not a second later, McCoy was on the right side of his biobed, too, hauling his chair with him. Pavel supposed that if he really wanted to, he could look and see who was in the next biobed. He could… if he wanted… it may be one of the away team… It really wasn't worth the effort, though.

"Da. Yes. Disoriented."

"Okay, in that case," McCoy stood, loading a hypospray with some sort of clear-ish, pink-ish substance, "I'm going to give you a pain killer." Pavel carefully tilted his head to expose his neck for the hypo, as he did, he took in the rest of Med Bay, almost vacant now, at least as far as he could see; there was a nurse by the far wall looking at a PADD and there was a biobed in the corner with a white screen around it. From the silhouette, there was someone lying on it. The rest of the room sat dormant, though; all of the nurses had ducked into offices or out of Med Bay entirely. Pavel figured it must have been because of the fight that he and Hikaru had. Or maybe… something else? McCoy? But how would that make sense?

There was a slight hiss in his right ear and then a pressure he hadn't noticed was taken off of his neck along with the tingle that came from cool metal. Pavel still didn't know why the Captain was always complaining about hypos; Doctor McCoy was great at them. Pavel barely even noticed them when he went in for his yearly physical. It took a few moments passed in heavy silence, but the painful, neon lightning that inhabited his skull started to dissipate, and the fierce pressure on his left eye began to lessen by the second.

"There you go," McCoy said. He sank into his chair with a sigh and started massaging his forehead. "You look better, now. Was it really that bad?"

Pavel nodded, and this time his head barely gave a twinge. "I still feel a bit… off… but my head feels better. Thank you, Doctor McCoy."

"Don't mention it," McCoy huffed. "I'm going to give you a minute or two to get your ducks in a row, and then we can talk. I know it's important-" McCoy stuck up a hand to forestall any argument, though Pavel didn't feel like arguing anymore; the urgency was gone with the pain. "But it can wait one-hundred and twenty seconds." McCoy smiled that tired smile that Pavel knew all too well and then turned, walking to the screened biobed in the corner and sliding inside so quickly Pavel couldn't even catch a glimpse of who was in it. What he did see, though, was Hikaru's grimace where he sat quietly to Pavel's right.

Taking in Hikaru's complete appearance for the first time since waking, he asked, "Are you okay?" Pavel blinked. "You're all wet," was the first thing he noted, even though he wanted to ask why Hikaru had been crying.

"Yeah, I know. Thanks for the shower, by the way," Hikaru grumbled. Pavel gave a sheepish smile as Hikaru ducked to snatch up the empty water glass that had been flung from the mattress; pulling a towel out from under the biobed, Hikaru dabbed at his soaked shirt before balling the towel up and clutching it in one hand. In the other hand was the now empty glass, quickly handed to the nurse who came over with another clear cup, this one with amber colored liquid instead of water. It smelled sweet. At Pavel's look of confusion, the nurse chuckled.

"Watered down apple juice," she said, a small smile dancing across her eyes even as she tried to keep her expression neutral.

"I'm not a child," Pavel grumbled.

"I know, but apple juice has calories. Water doesn't. And you need energy," she remarked even as she turned on her heel and glided away. Pavel harrumphed and stuck his tongue out at her receding back, belaying his complaint about _not_ being a child.

"Cute." Hikaru smirked at him.

"Shut up." Pavel looked down at the juice. At least the cup wasn't plastic. Or molded in the shape of a dinosaur. He was twenty-one, damn it! "Apple juice," he scoffed, though his indignation had no support from Hikaru, who wasn't even trying to hide his snickering. Pavel looked back over at him, brow furrowed. It was pretty easy to see past the smile; Hikaru's eyes were red rimmed and tight at the corners. "You never answered my question."

Hikaru's smile transformed into a grimace, even if the corners of his mouth were still turned up. "What question?"

"Are you alright?" Pavel asked, staring at him, and Hikaru shifted in his chair before running a hand through slightly damp black hair.

"Stuff… happened. You'll find out about it soon, but it's really more of something that should be explained all at once." Hikaru then smiled, which was greatly at odds with his red eyes and haggard expression, just teetering on the edge of pure exhaustion.

"Why can't you just tell me the part that's bothering you?" Pavel asked, treading on egg shells as he did and keeping his tone as neutral as possible.

Hikaru saw right through him, of course. "Because, you're inquisitive and belligerent."

"I am not belligerent. Just determined," Pavel corrected.

"Fine," Hikaru said. "Inquisitive and determined, to get answers, usually. And once you get the bit between your teeth, you won't let up on the questions, so I'm going to wait until you and McCoy and Kirk and I are all in the same room before even letting you ask."

"Too bad," Pavel taunted, "I already did!" He then began to wonder if McCoy had dosed the painkiller properly, or if he was that loopy for other reasons. It probably didn't matter. The result was the same.

Nurses were starting to trickle back into Med Bay, blue uniforms stark against the white; the sounds of chatter began to pick up, as they did in places with a large number of people, but Pavel could tell there was something not quite right about the atmosphere. And for once, he did not think that had anything to do with him projecting his own anxiety on the mood of the room. People were furtive, quick about their actions and sharp about their words, spoken softly in small spurts. The chatter had an ebb and a flow to it, though the flow was more reminiscent of electricity than water, leaping and falling without warning. The sidelong glances didn't help; there didn't seem to be a single person who could pass someone else without sneaking a look out of the corner their eye. Whenever two people's gazes met, which was often, given how many of the nurses had returned and how many were sliding suspicious looks at one another, their eyes jerked away to look at the wall or the floor or ceiling. Pavel watched people huddle in groups of five or so only to scatter before another group coalesced, never with the same members.

"Yellow alert?" Pavel asked suddenly. There were too many nurses for an average shift. In the corner, Pavel saw confirmation of his theory; the console there was pulsating a bright yellow, and he wondered how he had missed it.

"Yeah. Yellow alert. Been that way since the Copernicus' signals cut out," Hikaru said, though he looked like he wanted to eat the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. Pavel may have wanted to ask questions and give answers, but he knew not to press when his friend thought he said too much. Instead, Pavel filed that information away for later use, his mind revving up to full speed now that his splitting headache was gone.

There was a _whoosh_ to Pavel's left, the door to Med Bay flying open; Hikaru gave a tense smile across the room and Pavel turned to see Jim Kirk striding toward the biobed, Scotty following close behind. Before either of them could say anything though, Pavel caught sight of something else in the corner of his eye that sent a jolt through his chest; on the biobed to his left was Joanna Whitten, silent and still, smiling in her sleep. Before Pavel could ask anything, Kirk stepped in between the two biobeds, saying, "Hi there, Lieutenant Chekov. How are you doing?"

Before answering Pavel peered at Kirk's face. It was just as drawn as Hikaru's was, premature wrinkles crossing his forehead and pulling at the corners of his eyes; whatever had happened while Pavel was out, it hadn't been good. "Fine," Pavel finally answered. "But, are you alright, Captain?"

Kirk only snorted while Scotty replied, "Ah, laddie. You've a heart of gold, but we need more of an answer than 'fine' before you get to ask the questions."

"I feel _fine_ ," Pavel insisted before he was able to catch himself. All three people around his biobed gave a light laugh at his wince, and he followed up with, "Sorry. No, I'm… I feel better than I did. I woke up with a headache, but now I'm-" before this moment Pavel hadn't realized how often he used the word 'fine,' "-uh, well… specifically, I feel like I got hit over the head with a bat a few days ago. But I'm… okay… now." Pavel hoped that the word 'okay' was different enough from 'fine' to get past their censors.

"Bones," Kirk said, looking over at the screened biobed as McCoy exited. "Pavel says he's _fine_." There were very obvious air quotes around the word. "What are your thoughts?"

"My thoughts are that you should make it more of a _priority_ when your CMO tells you to get to Med Bay right away," McCoy pronounced, and nurses scattered again, dodging into offices and labs. "I needed you down here to reassure a patient. Listen next time." Christine Chapel rolled her eyes at the fidgety nurse with whom she was looking over a PADD; the nurse took his eyes off the PADD and looked longingly at a closing lab door. McCoy ignored the flurry of activity, probably so used to it he was immune to any surprises. "Everything else we can talk about in my office." He walked up to Pavel and bent over so that only they two and maybe Hikaru could hear him speak. "You think you're good for walking kid? I wouldn't push it if I were you, so if you need another few minutes, take 'em."

"No, I'm-" Pavel halted and then figured that the ban on 'fine' only applied when he spoke to Kirk and Scotty, "- fine." McCoy's incredulous look made it clear he had interpreted the hesitation as a question of health rather than a question of vernacular. "Really!" Pavel insisted. "I feel much better now. Thank you." McCoy only replied in unintelligible grumbles, marching off a few feet; Pavel decided to take that as permission to stand. It took a little more effort than he had hoped for, since his muscles felt more like putty than well-trained devices of motion, acclimated to incredible speeds and agility. Hoping that everyone interpreted his speed – or lack thereof – to caution instead of inability, Pavel set his bare feet on the floor; it was, unsurprisingly, cold. From nowhere, Hikaru produced some slippers, dull blue affairs meant to match the standard issue Starfleet sweats that Pavel had been stuffed into sometime while he was unconscious. At least the whole outfit was warm; the cool sterility of Med Bay would be enough to make Pavel shiver even if he were near dead from heat exhaustion.

Treading slowly across Med Bay, surrounded on all sides by friends keeping an eye on him rather than where they were going, Pavel considered walking until McCoy hit the wall; preoccupied as he was with observing Pavel walk, he wouldn't notice the wall until he had already hit it. Unfortunately for Pavel's master plan of deceit and cruelty, McCoy knew his domain too well and turned away just in time to adjust course, navigating to his office door. Pavel knew it was childish, but he was a bit let down; he had been looking forward to seeing McCoy's look of confusion when he bumped into the wall.

Pavel took mental stock of himself. ' _That is not how professionals act_ ,' Pavel told himself. Maybe he deserved that watered-down apple juice. Plus that imaginary plastic dinosaur sippy cup. ' _Can I blame it on the pain killer?_ ' he thought and again he wondered if McCoy had dosed it properly.

Settling into the chair in front of McCoy's desk, Pavel noticed that Kirk and Hikaru had left the office just in time for them to return, each carrying a chair. Scotty was already sitting next to him while McCoy had taken his customary seat behind his desk, clasping his hands together and putting on his Doctor Face (patent pending). That was not a good sign.

After Hikaru and Kirk plopped into their chairs, the silence persisted, McCoy's face growing stormier by the second. "Did I invite all of you in here?" he demanded. Before anyone could answer, he said, "Rhetorical question. Everyone except Pavel, out! _Now_."

"But-" Hikaru started to protest, and McCoy cut him off.

" _Everyone_ , Sulu."

Hikaru wasn't the only grumpy one; Kirk was muttering on his way out. "You told me to come down here. I did. It took a minute. Sure, it did. I'm the captain of a freaking starship. What do you expect. But still, why demand I come down here if you're just gonna kick me out as soon as-" The door closed and cut off his voice. McCoy glared at it for another second before switching his gaze to Pavel, eyes softening.

"Now, I'm going to explain some things. Feel free to stop me anywhere to ask questions, but if I say to wait for the answer, wait. I'll get to them in due course," McCoy said. There was another pause with heavy air hanging from the ceiling, resting on Pavel's shoulders; oddly, that was the only source of tension. He didn't feel the sense of impending doom or the twisting stomach that he normally did when he was in McCoy's office for something exclusively medical. It dawned on him that McCoy was waiting for a response, so Pavel gave a small nod that he hoped was encouraging. It was hard to tell; McCoy responded to almost everything by disgruntled grumbling. Raising his voice again, McCoy said, "Well. We'll start with the basics. You already know that Whitten, Patron, and Nguyen's mics cut out. Not too long after, your team's cut out, too, and then Brooke's. You should already be aware that by that time Kirk was leading an away team comprised of Hendorff, Ensign Raquel, Sulu, and I."

Pavel gave a brief nod of confirmation.

McCoy continued, "Our team landed on the planet and tracked a set of footprints leading away from the Copernicus. We saw a few figures on the horizon, but in a small rock outcropping, we found-" There was a slight hitch in McCoy's speech that Pavel figured he wasn't supposed to have noticed, since McCoy continued speaking as if nothing had happened. "-Kater Patron, unconscious; Sulu and I brought him back to the Aster while Kirk, Hendorff, and Raquel continued to follow the trail. Sulu had a burst of intuition, or as I like to call it, past experience of away missions with Captain James T. Kirk, and we flew the shuttle back to where we saw the people on the horizon. When we got there, Sulu landed the shuttle in the middle of a firefight; the unknowns had the high ground and our first priority was to make sure no one got shot. All three of our team still on the ground got on the shuttle and then we flew into a circle of some kind, made of a tall rock wall on top of a plateau. On that plateau, there was a circle, into which two unknowns vanished, leaving you and Ensign Joanna Whitten on the ground outside, also unconscious." There was no hitch at McCoy saying his daughter's name, Pavel noticed. "After a brief attempt to enter the hatch, Ensign Raquel determined that there was no way to open it, and all eight of us left the planet. The reason that you, Patron, and Joanna were unconscious was because of excess amounts of an alkaloid called solanine. It can cause disorientation, dizziness, fatigue, vomiting, hypothermia, and – in extreme cases – death. Luckily, none of you had any dangerous reactions to it, however it does appear that they mixed up the doses… and by that I mean, someone drugged you. And messed up while doing it."

It was at this point that Pavel really wanted to interject that he knew something, but didn't since his commentary wasn't a proper question. He wondered if McCoy would care at this point.

McCoy took another deep breath before launching back into his story. "This was intentional and premeditated. Whoever it was that drugged you-" McCoy grimaced. Pavel figured there was more than one reason for that. "- had the doses planned out by weight and muscle mass so you would all suffer the same effects. The reason you're awake before the other two, and the reason I know this was planned, was that it appears you got Joanna's dose and she got yours; so, basically, it's like Goldilocks and the Three Bears. Joanna's gonna be asleep too long, you were asleep not long enough, and Patron in going to be asleep for the exact amount of time they intended. I figured this out by the concentrations in your blood. Why they used solanine instead of an actual sedative, I have no idea. But this is where things get…" McCoy sat back in his chair and rubbed his face, a measure of his exhaustion and stress.

"I think you should get some rest," Pavel said, even though he knew he was breaking the rules of the explanation. He scooted as far forward on his chair as he could and it squeaked on the smooth floor, sending a vibrating squeal through the room; Pavel did his best to ignore it, but McCoy wasted no time in wincing against the noise and shooting Pavel a judging glare. "You look tired," Pavel said in as steady a tone as he could; McCoy's only reaction was a chuckle, so Pavel tried his best command voice next. "Doctor McCoy," he pronounced, "no one on this ship will be able to perform their duties if you are unwell, and it is ridiculous to exhaust yourself when you could be resting."

"That there was a pretty good impression of Spock, kid," McCoy stated and then raised an eyebrow. "Too bad I don't listen to him." Pavel felt his face heat up and suddenly wished that the harsh white light in the ceiling were dimmer so the doctor wouldn't be able to see his face redden. "Look," McCoy continued, shifting in his seat again, "other stuff… happened… but I'm not the best person to tell you about all that. What I need to tell you is that I drew some blood from all three of you – Patron, Joanna, and you – and aside from the solanine, there was something else in your and- uh, well… there was something else in your blood, anyway."

Pavel felt the floor fall out from under him; he had to look down just to make sure that the legs of his chair hadn't snapped. What McCoy had been about to say was "your and" another name. Planting his feet on the floor as firmly as he could, if only to remind himself it was still there, Pavel tried not to think about the kind of revelation it would take to cause Doctor McCoy to _almost_ break patient confidentiality on accident.

Frazzled and trying his best not to appear so, McCoy continued, "This – or alternately, these things – in your blood appear to be some sort of nanomachines, built for the express purpose of releasing neurotransmitters on command when circulating through the brain. Now, here's how communication within the brain is supposed to work. Neurotransmitters are released from the axon of a neuron – a cell in the brain – through a synapse to be received by a dendrite on another neuron. Once received by a dendrite, if the signal passes the action potential threshold in the cell, then the message is passed on, again out of an axon by a neurotransmitter. It's an all or nothing response, which means that if the threshold isn't met, there'd be no communication between neurons. This communication between cells can sometimes be stopped within a cell by an inhibitor. That's what a lot of pain medications do, is inhibit the signal while it's in the cell. There's a little more going on there, but that's the general gist." McCoy rubbed at his face again before realizing what he was doing and taking his hands down, putting them on his desk. Pavel figured McCoy didn't realize that – even though he was trying very hard to remain calm and unflappable – he was still pulling on his sleeves' hem. "These neurotransmitters are chemicals and are easy to artificially reproduce. What the nanomachines in your blood are doing is producing more of whatever neurotransmitter they come across; basically, if you're feeling uneasy or anxious or happy or scared the feeling will be increased. These nanomachines are acting as agonists, increasing, emulating, and stimulating the action of endorphins in your brain. But they only do this based on an external signal or command to start the process. I'm no sure, but I think the nanomachines can also act as antagonists, which block neurotransmitter, excessively regulating the dendrite exposure. This means… that someone else is controlling how you feel at certain times. They don't do it all the time, thank God, because that kind of stimulus can lead to depression, tremors, seizures, or schizophrenia."

Oh. Pavel blinked. That didn't sound good.

Raising his hand, Pavel asked, "If these nanomachines are in my blood, why haven't they been filtered out? Don't kidneys and the immune system try to get rid of foreign material?"

This time it was McCoy's turn to blink. "They're designed so they're recognized as a noninvasive substance, and when they are filtered out, I think there's a feature where they build more nanomachines from available materials in food. I think that's why your iron level is down, actually… but, aside from that, I wasn't expecting you to take that piece of information so calmly. Nanomachines in your blood? Why aren't you surprised? Or angry?"

Pavel just shrugged; he hadn't been feeling like himself for a while. It was a bit of a relief to know that it wasn't actually _him_ who was messed up; it wasn't exactly comforting to know that someone had hijacked his neurotransmitters – whatever the hell that actually meant – but at least once they got rid of the nanomachines everything would go back to normal. Pavel's train of thought froze in its tracks. Unless the reason this was such a big deal was because his brain wouldn't go back to normal… There was a stabbing pain through his chest that he knew was psychological and told himself to pretend it was because he was hungry, even though he would throw up if he put anything in his mouth right then.

McCoy eyed him for a second, squinting at his expression, before continuing, "I'm… I am _sorry_ , Pavel. I _should_ have noticed this before now." McCoy was slouched in his seat, his face in shadow; to Pavel the harsh light coming from the ceiling didn't seem nearly as bright as it had a few minutes before. "I should have caught it."

"No, you shouldn't have," Pavel piped up. "You didn't have any reason to look for anything before now, and-"

"But it's been obvious for over a year that there's something wrong!" McCoy protested, springing out of seat and starting to pace. "I tried to tell myself that it would best for you to be in an engaging environment, where you could see and learn and think! You don't- you don't do well bored! Everyone knows it! Me, especially!" McCoy barked a laugh. "I of all people should know how hard it is to get you to sit still for two seconds at a time! But I should have been more attentive to your mental state. These nanomachines are just feeding off a preexisting problem, making it worse! I'm sorry! Please," McCoy demanded, "This is all my fault, don't tell me it's not. I may not have caused it, but I let it happen when, if I'd been just a little less- less selfish or- or I don't know!" McCoy raked his fingers through his hair and looked up at that odd discoloration on the ceiling in the corner. To Pavel, it kind of looked like a bunny. "For God's sake, you should be furious with me! I know I am! I let someone- someone- control you! _I_ tried to control you, control your life without you knowing and I may have kept you away from getting help! How is that forgivable?"

"You did what you did for the best. I under-"

"For the best? What sort of twisted logic is that? Good intentions don't equate to good results," McCoy snorted, " _especially_ where doctors are concerned."

Pavel thought that was a sideways view of twisted logic, but he also knew bringing up that fact right then would have given McCoy an ulcer.

"Now you listen to me," Pavel said, leaping to his feet, too, and hoping that they would listen to him instead of responding as they had when he tried to walk, like trudging through waste high molasses. When he stalked around the side of the desk, he realized that he was fine, completely recovered. This time trying for his best angry-Kirk impression instead of Spock, Pavel said, "You are not responsible for this. You didn't cause it. I've known something was wrong, too. Did I come to you for help?" Pavel paused just long enough for McCoy to open his mouth, but cut him off when he started to speak. It was a bit of a cheap trick, but cutting someone off was an effective way of establishing dominance in an argument. Or, so Pavel had observed. "No, I did not. But has this problem been affecting my work? No! Has there been any evidence of this endangering someone? Also, no. And if it's not affecting my work or endangering myself or someone else, then you have no right to get involved unless I come to you for help directly! And I did not!" he repeated. "Stop taking responsibility for a problem that wasn't yours to deal with! Is it yours now? Yes. But at no time before today could it have ever been thought of as your responsibility or your problem! So, stop blaming yourself and do your job." Pavel suppressed a wince at that last line; he hadn't actually meant to say that one, only think it.

It may have been that last line or it may have been the entire tirade, but whatever the reason, McCoy's back was up and he was spitting mad, a phrase that Pavel had actually learned from McCoy. He hadn't had an opportunity to use it before, and he wished he still hadn't. "Okay, now you listen up, kid," McCoy snapped. "I spend way too much God-damn time piecing this crew back together to worry about whether or not I'm stepping on someone's toes! Privacy matters, but when we're floating in the middle of nowhere in something as small as the Enterprise, everyone is affected by morale! Severely!" Pavel had to admit, McCoy wasn't _wrong_. "And if you try telling me that your mood swings haven't brought down the mood on the bridge a few times, I will laugh in your face. How long has it been since you've actually had a _good_ day?"

Pavel stood up straighter, putting the top of his head over McCoy's. "Yesterday."

"And how long before yesterday?" McCoy asked. Pavel should have known that was going to be the next question. "Pavel, just… just let me apologize, for God's sake!"

Silence fell between them like a sack of bricks. The whine of the light overhead was the only sound, and they were both utterly still, locked in a contest of wills.

"Fine," Pavel sighed. "I'll let you apologize, if it makes you feel better."

That _didn't_ seem to put McCoy into any better of a mood. "Thanks. Really appreciate that," he griped.

The silence returned, slithering down the walls and across the floor, pooling at their feet before rising, monstrous to the ceiling and enveloping the whole of the room. Not even the light wanted to shatter the quiet, for once keeping its drone to itself.

Finally, Pavel offered an olive branch, though one of an unusual kind, more of a diversion than anything else, though it allowed them to sidestep the conflict without either giving more ground than they already had. "How long have I had these nanomachines in me, do you think?" he asked.

McCoy puffed a sigh and fell back into his chair. "As far as I can tell – which isn't far, mind you, I haven't run into this problem before – maybe a year? Whoever or whatever did this, did it right before or right after you came on board."

Something about that statement tickled Pavel's memory. There was something, it was almost forgotten, something about… "Do you think it has something to do with the blood on the shuttle?" he asked.

"I don't know," McCoy shook his head, "Maybe. Maybe not. No matter what, there still wasn't anything wrong either time I scanned you that day." There was another beat of quiet, but neither of them were welcoming of silence.

"Is it permanent?" Pavel asked. "If you get rid of the nanomachines – Can you? Can you get rid of them? And if you can, did they do anything… irrev…" Pavel couldn't bring himself to finish the question, his jaw clenched and became uncooperative.

"Can I get rid of them? Yes, I can; I'm working on a solution right now that will latch onto and disable them. This configuration will make them inoperable and allow your immune system and kidneys to identify them as foreign material, eventually filtering all of them out in maybe 48 hours. There is a downside to this, though. For the past year, your brain has been overstimulated on a frequent basis, even if it wasn't constant. This means that, overtime, you built up a tolerance and your brain slowed production of its own endorphins and possibly neurotransmitters and the nanomachines had to produce more for you to undergo the same effect. What I'm trying to say is, your body has developed what equates to a physiological addiction to the effects of the nanomachines. It's like being on trace doses of quite a few drugs at one time. You're going to go through withdrawal, and it's going to be an unusual withdrawal. These nanomachines have made all different kinds of neurotransmitters and endorphins. This means that all of your production has gone down. So, it's not going to just be withdrawal, it's going to be clinical and physiological depression. It is more than likely you'll make a full recovery; brains are quite plastic and resilient, if you want to know the truth. But there is a possibility that you will have to take medication that includes serotonin and maybe other endorphins and neurotransmitters if production doesn't increase soon. There's nothing wrong with this at all, but there will be an adjustment period, regardless whether you make a full recovery naturally or not."

Pavel let the new information wash over him; he was approaching the point where he became numb, and he knew that wasn't where he should be. "Okay. Thank you for telling me." Pavel paused, but McCoy still appeared to be waiting for something. "I'm still processing it. Can you give me a minute?"

McCoy smiled, the first real, genuine smile Pavel had seen on his face in days. It wasn't very big, but it was there, and the lines on his forehead seemed smoother, if only by a little bit. "Alright kiddo. You want anything to eat?" Pavel shook his head; his stomach rejected the idea of food outright and brooked no argument. "Okay, in that case I'm replicating something for you to drink. You can sit for a few minutes, if you want I can go find something else to do, and then we'll all come back to together and you can ask any questions you have about what happened while you were out."

Pavel nodded. "Thanks," he said. As McCoy moved to the replicator in the corner, the words, "Not apple juice!" tumbled out of Pavel's mouth faster than anything he had ever said before. He couldn't see it, but he was pretty sure McCoy was smirking at the wall above the replicator.

"Not a problem. Tea?"

Pavel gave a noncommittal grunt and before long he had a cup of black tea in front of him with a tablespoon of sugar replicated on a little plate. He dumped the sugar into the cup and stirred it as McCoy walked out of the room, locking the door behind him.

The cup of tea went quickly, but Pavel hardly noticed until one time he brought the cup to his lips and tilted it back, only to find that there was nothing left. He hadn't really been lost in thought; he wasn't thinking at all, or at least not about anything important. Instead he stared at the stain on the ceiling in the corner, debating whether it did in fact look like a bunny or if it resembled a person made of marshmallow. Maybe a fish with unusual dorsal fins? Were dorsal fins even on fish, or just dolphins? Could it be a teddy bear? That was Pavel's thought process, staring at the corner; in the background his mind worked with lethargy, sorting through and categorizing all of the information he had received. Soon, though, he felt the speed of his thoughts pick up, analysis and logic processing sorting through the information he needed to share instead of that which had been shared with him. Before picking a next step, he needed more information. He needed to know what happened that made everyone so jumpy.

Jumpy. Pavel levitated out of his seat when the door flew open again; his head whipped around when he hit the chair, and he saw McCoy standing in the doorway, eyebrows raised to his hairline in surprise.

"Did I startle you?" McCoy asked cautiously, taking a few steps into the room, and Pavel laughed. It was nervous and breathy, but he was laughing, and the corner of McCoy's mouth quirked upwards in a smile.

"Yes, Doctor McCoy. I was thinking, sorry!" Pavel smiled at him; his mind was racing and he needed a problem to solve.

"You need another minute?" McCoy asked. At Pavel's enthusiastic denial, shaking his head fast enough that his hair bounced around, McCoy's smile widened and he said, "I'm going to ask the others to come back in. We can talk about _everything else_ that happened."

Just as McCoy was about to leave the room again, a question occurred to Pavel that he probably should have asked first. "How long was I unconscious?"

"Hmm? Oh, I didn't realized Sulu hadn't told you. Just over an hour," McCoy replied, gesturing out the door at someone Pavel couldn't see.

"An hour? Then how could so much have happened that you call it 'everything'?" Pavel asked.

Scotty snorted, trouping through the open door right before Hikaru and Kirk. "Oh, you'll find out about that in a second," he said, falling into his chair next to Pavel's.

McCoy opened his mouth, taking a deep breath and settling into his seat. He seemed to be preparing to launch into an epic worthy of Homer, but before he could-

"Leonard!" Christine Chapel's voice flew through the door before it could open all the way, not long after followed by the doctor herself. "Joanna's awake!"

"Is Patron?" McCoy asked, leaping from his seat and around the desk so quickly to Pavel it appeared he teleported.

"Still asleep," Christine dashed out the door, but her voice moved slower, still carrying through the gap even as she moved away. "-but Joanna's on a rant, and we don't have anyone here who can sign-"

The door closed behind the two of them, cutting them off, but before long it had to open again, allowing the remaining four people in the room to troop out into the noise of nurses cursing under their breath and dodging out of the way of the two doctors storming across the room to the biobed next to what had been Pavel's. Joanna was sitting up now and glaring daggers at whoever came too close and her exaggerated but sharp movements seemed reminiscent of McCoy's tone at his most angry; Joanna's expression was a rough approximation of his as well, sending some people scuttling and putting other people's backs up as they returned the glare, only to be sent running when McCoy himself approached.

Pavel really wished that McCoy had been right about the Goldilocks and the Three Bears. He would have rather Joanna had stayed asleep, especially when her expression morphed into one of pure fury when her eyes fell on him.

-0-

 **Well, that was some important information. The ending is approaching at warp speed! Any new theories?**


	33. Chapter 33: Chorus

**Continuing onward! The forecast calls for multiple POV jumps per chapter.**

-0-

Chapter 33: Chorus

It was a rare occasion when Pavel ended up on the receiving end of Doctor McCoy's serious glare. So he had never had a reason to build an immunity to it.

That was what he would claim stopped him in his tracks when Joanna Whitten turned her icy grey eyes on him, face set in the same expression as McCoy's when he was at his most volatile. Despite the fact the color of her eyes gave her expression a cool edge, there was crackling emotion behind it, to an extent that Pavel had never seen before. He'd heard a lot about her, she was quick, smart, ruthless, and flirted with everything that breathed… but she kept a tight rein on her emotions. Everything she did was clinically calculated and measured, weighed to determine the optimum outcome.

Now her rein was gone, constraint lost in the raging fire behind her eyes and what little propriety she had was abandoned to the wind. Her gestures were wild but sharp, their energy focused at communicating her point with as much emphasis as she could. Her face morphed at every other word – or what Pavel assumed were words, handicapped as he was without knowledge of signing – but still her expression was that of her father's. They were mirrors of fury. McCoy was signing back at her now, every once and a while saying a word aloud; to Pavel he seemed unaware of what he was doing, focused entirely on Joanna. Joanna's posture had changed, instead of exploding, she appeared to be arguing, paying as much attention to McCoy's flying fingers as she did to her own. She also started to point at Pavel, and before long her hands began to shake; whether the reason was medical or simple fury was a mystery to him.

Whatever it was, Pavel wanted to be just about anywhere else.

-0-

When Maximillian Brooke was younger and his parents were… being themselves, he supposed… he had sometimes tried extracurriculars at school. To get out of the house, mostly. Occasionally he tried the clubs because he was interested, like chess in the first grade; it had been fun for a little while. The room had been quiet, except for the soft murmur of children saying their moves aloud, humming, or tapping a pencil in thought. The occasional dull _clacks_ of a plastic piece on a plastic board were the only things that broke the serenity. That is, until Max accidentally knocked over a board full of pieces because he couldn't tell where the rook he wanted to move was. After that happened twice in one day, everyone – himself included – had agreed he would just say his move aloud and someone else would actually place it on the board. That backfired when his opponents started to move his pieces incorrectly. It was probably intentional, though they swore up and down that it was because they were looking at the board from the wrong side. Max did not argue that the coordinates on the board were the same regardless of perspective. Then, the other kids got tired of saying their moves out loud for him– maybe tired of losing, too – and started trying to trick him by saying their moves incorrectly.

Max ended up quitting chess club after three weeks, the day the teacher yelled at Lester Gills, a fifth grader who apparently got away with everything because he looked seven. Terrorizing Max in chess club had to be the only thing Lester got a punishment for in the entirety of his elementary school career; he had ended up crying about how it was so unfair, just because he made a mistake the teacher got angry at him; what kind of teaching is that anyway? Lester had been the kind of kid Max despised.

The teacher – Max forgot her name intentionally – had thought that a bit of admonishment and speaking loudly would solve all of Max's problems. Even if everything had been solved by the outburst, Max was not enthused at the idea of sitting in the same room as everyone he had _felt_ staring at him, sitting with the teacher by his side, shouting at Lester across the table.

That was the first time he had ever gotten that feeling, the feeling of being… scrutinized. It wasn't the last. It followed him the rest of the week, down school hallways and at the store, while he trailed after his parents with his hand wrapped in the back of his dad's shirt. That windy day after chess club his dad had worn a soft flannel button-up, Max's favorite of his dad's shirts; the only down side of it was that, not for the first or last time, it smelled of strong cologne mingling with cigarettes. Max remembered wondering if his mom knew Dad had started smoking again. Whether she knew at the time or not, it came up in their argument at the fancy steak restaurant two months later. By that time the feeling of being… _observed_ had disappeared, but when his mom started screaming about cigarettes and his dad started shouting at her about someone named Samuel, Max felt those all-seeing eyes return, watching him nestled in a corner booth that reeked of the warm dust coating the coarse, paneled walls and padded benches.

The feeling faded again after they got home, but it returned readily, faster every time it came; when he answered a question wrong in class, when he tripped over a bump in the floor, when he tried to join book club in middle school – he liked reading! Just not regular print – and he could hear snickers in the back of the room.

And then, once upon a time, his favorite teacher had started a yoga club after seventh period. He was in his last year of high school, even if he was only sixteen, and so ready to move on he could taste it in the air and feel the pull away like a giant hook through his stomach. Every day that hook tugged harder, the tension growing, twisting in his gut until he was sure he was going to snap. That yoga class – strange as it sounded – probably stopped him from screeching at his parents that he didn't need them anymore. Needless to say, if he had it would not have gone over well.

Mrs. Robinson, the physical education instructor, described in detail the first day of the club each and every move they would use and the transitions; she would even stay late to tell him how to fix his stance if he got it wrong. She made sure he was breathing correctly and stood the right way and had his weight shifted to the correct foot. And she made sure never to draw those eyes toward him. He was just another student. After spring and winter breaks when he wasn't as astute in keeping up with his stretching, the first few days back always hurt, pulling on muscles that hadn't been used in a while.

It had been years, but he recalled the feeling like it was yesterday – that feeling of not-quite-pain, knowing the result was worth the momentary discomfort. There was a distinctive pull when you used something that knew it could go farther, even if it was not quite used to it anymore.

Max could tell he was waking up; what told him wasn't a gradual lightening of his surroundings or a fade from black to grey – those things were pretty hard to come by when you couldn't see, and frankly, he wasn't sure they existed even if he could – but the slow pulling on his mind, the stretching. He knew his brain was not actually moving, not physically, but he could feel his thoughts expand, like he hadn't used his mind in ages, pulling on muscles not used to the simmering burn of consciousness.

After memories of high school yoga surfaced, his first coherent thought was, ' _How is_ THAT _relevant_?'

He didn't know why and he didn't know how, but he had a very strong, instinctual feeling, much like that hook in his stomach during school, that he had bigger things to worry about than his early life and divorced parents.

The next thing he realized was that he didn't know why he had been asleep.

' _Okay_ ,' Max thought, trying to control his breathing, ' _Let's start there. Why was I asleep?_ ' His mind was still stretching, though, and protested at being pulled so quickly toward active thought. ' _Never mind, then. How long was I asleep_?' He had no answer for that either, but more because his internal clock had never been that great than because his brain couldn't handle the thought. ' _Where am I_?' he demanded of himself. There was no answer, only a cold… floor? What he was on was metal, at least. His right side was plastered to the surface; he felt grooves in his face where he had lain against studs or bolts, drilled in each corner of a square, four inches by four, if what he could tell from the dents in his arm was true. He was laying on his right side with his arm flattened beneath him, only his hand and wrist peeking out by his stomach. His fingers were asleep, so the only way he could tell they were still there was how they brushed his abdomen when he took a deep breath. The tips of his fingers were dry, which meant that cut he'd gotten on his hand fighting the hostile had scabbed over. It hadn't been that deep of a scratch anyway. Just a lot of blood very fast before it stopped itself up. Shifting his shoulder, his whole arm jolted awake and sent out needle-like protests. Max decided to ignore that for the time being. Other than his arm, he was pretty sure the rest of him was in good shape.

' _Better than those guys, at least,'_ Max thought, recalling how much Sge, Nguyen, and Nils grumbled about hauling the other three around, who had apparently been knocked unconscious by forces unseen. ' _Wait. What?_ ' Max back tracked.

Lieutenant Chekov! Whitten! Patron!

"Oh no," Max groaned aloud, trailing off and softly mumbling, "no, no, no, no, no…" He rolled to his back and swept his arms and legs out around him, testing for obstacles. He found none, but that confirmed the unfortunate fact that he was, really, on a floor. It also told him that he wasn't as okay as he first thought; his right ankle twinged a bit and felt swollen, though he had no way to confirm that until he sat up and felt it. Perhaps faster than he should have – in case there really was a low ceiling – Max swung his arms up in an arc. After hitting nothing but air, Max braced his arms against the floor, right hand tingling in protest. After a hasty struggle to sit up, Max sat quite still again, listening.

' _Breathing. Not mine. They're close by. Awake... uneven breathing… Now they're holding their breath. They know I'm listening. Nervous? Guilty? Sitting on metal. But not the floor. Grinds their teeth-_ '

"Nils?" Max asked suddenly. There was a muffled yelp and a clang as someone fell off of what seemed to be a standard issue Starfleet metal chair. Used in interrogation rooms. ' _Why? Why am I on the floor? Doctor McCoy would never agree to this! Captain Kirk wouldn't, either!_ ' Max strained his ears but he heard nothing but the distant sounds of human activity and whirring machines. And large, industrial machines, too, if he really stretched his hearing. Engineering? Maybe? "Um, are we on the Enterprise?" asked Max. That seemed to be a safe enough question to start with. None of this made any sense.

"No?" That was Nils' voice alright. But why was his answer a question? As if he had heard Max's thought, Nils repeated, much more certain, "No. We're not. We're still on the planet, in that hanger we found. How'd you know it was me?"

Max smiled at what he assumed was Nils, or at least in Nils' direction. "You grind your teeth. You probably want to work on that before your next dentist appointment."

"Ah…" Nils replied. He wasn't the best conversationalist.

"The hostiles?" Max prompted, rolling his shoulders. "The ones who were shooting us after we got up that hill?"

"Dunno…" It sounded like Nils was speaking to the floor itself instead of someone sitting on it.

Max started rubbing his legs to get rid of knots he hadn't realized were there and snickered. "Sean, you really need to learn how to carry a conversation. Did you hit your head when you stopped me from falling down that hill?"

Silence, except for a few hitched breaths.

"Seriously, you okay?" Max tried to keep his voice light hearted, but Nils was being… distant. It wasn't that Nils and he had run in the same circles, per se, but they got along well enough when they had to work together. And distance was not Nils' strong suit. In fact, if people had a criticism of him, it was usually that he was too cloying and clingy. Max's hands reached his right ankle and he jerked in surprise, muffling an inhuman scream.

It. Friggin'. _Hurt_.

"Seems like I should be asking you that," Nils mumbled. This time it sounded like he was talking into his own shirt. There were a few steps – standard shoes on a metal floor had a very distinctive sound – and then Max heard Nils stifle a hiss.

"If I had to hazard a guess, I'd say my ankle looks like all hell." Max smiled at the source of the hiss, whether it was Nils or a snake hanging from the ceiling by its tail, and hoped that it was reassuring. ' _Unfortunate, that I have no real idea of what "reassuring" looks like_ ,' he thought.

"How are you able to sit there and smile, Brooke?" Nils asked in wonderment. His voice was closer to the ground, so he was crouching; his voice was finally aimed at Max instead of the floor on the other side of the room. "I'd be bawling if my leg looked like that."

"Well," Max choked on the word. Now that he was aware of it, his ankle hurt so badly he thought he might throw up. "I guess I'm just tougher than you."

Nils did not laugh, but Max wasn't about to blame him. It hadn't been that funny.

-0-

If there was one thing Montgomery Scott was used to, it was loud, blaring alarms and flashing lights. Were he able to communicate how much he hated both of those things, it would most likely include the entirety of Uhura's cursing vocabulary, and quite a few made-up words.

"Blargheral!" Scotty exploded, one such made-up word. He was thinking about sharing it with McCoy, on the off chance he ever made that swearing-without-swearing dictionary he was always grumbling about.

Blargheral – a versatile expletive usually used to denote great frustration with subordinates completing complex tasks that you could probably do in half the time with greater accuracy, but – due to time constraints or _bureaucracy_ – cannot. It can be used as noun, verb, adjective, adverb, preposition, or article, depending on the situation, and can even replace other words, provided what it is substituting is understood in context. Ex; "Blargheral blar blarg argheral larg blar blargher!" can mean: "Damn you and every particle of air you breathe!"

"Blagheral, friggin' freaking, gosh dang blargh-ing-" The rest of Scotty's rant was cut off by yet another siren going off, this one pitched higher than the others with longer peels that stabbed his ears with their severity. "OH, FOR THE LOVE OF-"

"Mr. Scott!" A Russian accent, bellowed at the top of a voice coming from about seven feet away, only barely cut through the grating alarms. Scotty turned around to see a very awake, very healthy Pavel Chekov staring wide-eyed at the flaming mess that had been made of engineering. "What is happening?" Pavel asked, walking closer so he didn't have to shout.

"Ah, laddie!" Scotty exclaimed and wrapped Pavel in a bear hug, and didn't feel a bit bad when Pavel complained he couldn't breathe. After releasing him Scotty continued, "So glad to see you on your feet and out of that sterile hell-hole! But I would have thought Doctor McCoy would have had you in Medical until… well, doesn't matter. Come on, let's walk and talk. As you can see," he tossed an arm up to indicate the multiple pulsing lights around engineering, "I have much to fix. I got called down here when Little Miss Whitten was in a fury; what happened after that?"

"After you left I talked to the captain for a few minutes, but he has a lot on his plate. I only got the crucial stuff out before Doctor McCoy said I was free to go. That was right after Joanna started trying to kill me," Pavel remarked, ducking beneath a low clearance pipe.

Scotty didn't even blink, just walking up to a water turbine control board and tapping in a few commands. He didn't really fix the problem, just turned the turbine off, but one of the omnipresent sirens blessedly ceased. Splashing through the puddle of water to his left, he made his way under the large pipe in which he had once upon a time taken a pleasant afternoon dip. Even years later, he still cringed whenever he saw that _blargheraled_ tube.

"Joanna tried to kill you?"

Scotty was an expert on multitasking, but his sarcasm detector went on the fritz when he tried to engineer and talk at the same time.

"She didn't _actually_ try to kill me, she was just glaring and making very angry signs. McCoy thought it would be best if I left. I checked on Uhura to see if she needed anything, keeping in contact with the current team on the planet. She was fine, they were fine, even if they haven't found anything yet, and then I came here. Do you need any help?" Pavel balanced on the balls of his feet, looking over Scotty's shoulder where he was trying with his utmost strength to turn a wrench around a bolt that refused to be tightened.

Ensigns to their right dashed past with towels and duct tape. "That better be going to the water turbine _right now!"_ Scotty commanded the pipe in front of him. From the increased sound of scuttling – barely audible over the alarms – the ensigns had received the message. With a giant heave, Scotty managed to tighten the bolt and whirled around, nearly smacking Pavel in the arm with the wrench as he did so. "No, sir! No help needed! You shouldn't be here, anyway. When doctors say you're free to go, especially McCoy, that's usually with a few light-duty caveats. Now, scurry! I don't want you getting in the way of-"

Another siren – this one wailing, modulating against the backdrop of alarms – started to screech.

"DAMN IT!" Scotty bellowed. "WHOEVER DECIDED IT WAS A GOOD IDEA FOR EACH SYSTEM TO HAVE ITS OWN SIREN SHOULD BE TIED TO A CHAIR, SUSPENDED OVER A PIT OF ALLIGATORS, AND FORCED TO LISTEN TO THIS NONSTOP FOR THE REST OF THEIR NATURAL LIFE!"

Even though he was used to Scotty's outbursts, Pavel still jumped, eyebrows climbing to his hairline.

"Mr. Scott, I think you just scared a small animal," Pavel said. Or rather, announced, shouting over the wailing alarms.

Scotty looked down, and saw the proof of Pavel's statement; Prize was staring up at him from the studded metal floor, nose twitching. He seemed rather peevish, too, if that was possible for an animal with a brain the size of a walnut.

"Why isn't that thing running from this… cacophony?" Scotty muttered to the floor, stalking off again through the maze of pipes and large metal containers. He'd always thought that the engineering deck looked an awful lot like a brewery; that was a comforting thought on most days, but it was hard to be comforted when your eardrums were screaming.

"Mr. Scott, what _exactly_ is wrong?" Pavel asked.

Yet another siren went off. Scotty listened for only a second before realizing it was the water filtration system again. He prayed it wasn't another leak. Scotty opened his mouth to answer Pavel's question, but before he could, a final alarm started to blare.

"EVERYTHING!" Scotty roared. "EVERYTHING IS WRONG!" That final siren, so minor compared to the shriek of the rest, had been the only engineering alarm that had not yet gone off. The only sirens that could possibly go off now were the ship-wide ones, for emergencies, death, and impending doom. "GO GET KIRK!"

Pavel turned and darted off the way he came, ducking under low hanging platforms and pipes and past Engineers in red shirts running in every direction.

Scotty threw back his head and took a deep breath, doing his best to sooth his raging blood pressure. Water from the pipe above, leaking at yet another loose bolt, fell into his gaping mouth.

" _BLAGH_ -ERAL!"

-0-

James T. Kirk was not used to being left out, especially not where his CMO was concerned. They got in and out of trouble together, regardless of the situation, and Bones was very clearly in trouble, whether he wanted to admit it or not; Joanna, like her father, was a force to be reckoned with, whether you could understand her or not.

There was a small cough by a door that Jim had not heard open, focused as he was on Bones and his daughter.

"Chekov, I thought I kicked you out!" Jim proclaimed, voice echoing through the quietly pulsating air or Med Bay. Though it was silent compared to Engineering, the mood was just as tense. A different kind of tense, true, but the same level of severity; people slid flat footed around the room and through the doors, doing their level best to keep their shoes from clicking or squeaking.

Along one wall there was not a soul to be seen, aside from the captain and the two McCoys, arguing with sharp signs and angry looks. Bones' head snapped up, as if surprised to hear anything, much less a shout.

"Actually, Jim, I think this is my area, don't you?" Bones turned his glare on Pavel who shifted his feet by the door. "Chekov, I thought I kicked you out!"

"Original," Jim muttered at the ground. A slight tightening of Bones' jaw was the only thing that told Kirk he had been heard.

Pavel only gaped at them for a few seconds before glancing at Joanna. Unsurprisingly, he looked back at Jim and McCoy after no more than a half of a second; Joanna was not the most approachable person.

"Don't shoot the messenger!" Pavel stuttered. "Mr. Scott sent me. For you, Captain. Engineering is having… some… problems?"

Jim blinked. "Problems? What sort? Why am I only hearing about this now?"

"Give the kid a break, Jim." Bones shrugged at Jim's squint, continuing, "And in all fairness to Scotty, he only left about ten minutes before Pavel. He hasn't exactly had much time to deal with anything that came up while he was out of engineering. But seriously, Pavel, you know what's going on?"

Pavel shook his head, only just short of frantic; Jim decided to take that as a sign that he had fully recovered from that headache he had heard about. "No, sir, but there was some water on the floor, and a lot of alarms. Lights, too."

There was a squeak from the corner. Jim didn't need to turn around to know that a nurse had been distracted by eavesdropping and let their shoes squeak, jarring the silence. Subsequent squeaks, though faster and lower, told Jim that nurse was trying to be anywhere else, now that he had betrayed his position.

"Wonderful." Jim sighed. "Lead the way, Mr. Chekov. If you wouldn't mind, I'm going to ask some more questions on the way; there are a few things about what you told me… I need clarification is all."

"Of course, Captain." Pavel nodded and practically flew back out of the door. Jim wished he could say that he followed at a more sedate, dignified pace, but if he did he would be lying.

One McCoy was bad enough. Two was tantamount to a natural disaster, especially when arguing. If he couldn't be a part of that particular bit of trouble, he would much rather be as far away as possible than within glaring distance.

The hall's lights were bright, glaring. It was hardly an exception to the everyday, but Jim's mood made the walls and floor seem stark and clinical rather than a part of a technological marvel. The entire ship had caught the mood; at least four crew missing and there was already a rumor popping up that one or more of the recovered away team were traitors. Jim hoped to step on that rumor as soon as possible. To all evidence, only one was a traitor, and he hoped to stop anyone from finding out about that until after the problem had been dealt with.

Now _that_ would be a technological marvel, stopping the rumor mill once it had begun.

-0-

"Sean, tell me what's going on," Max demanded for what felt the fiftieth time. It wasn't the fiftieth though, only the thirteenth. Max had counted.

"Brooke, just wait for a little longer. Just wait and Nguyen and Sge will tell you everything. You know I'm no good at stories-"

"I'm not asking for a story!" Max thundered. "I am _demanding_ you tell me what's going on! Why are you being so evasive? What happened after I fell down that hatch? Why was I unconscious? You _will_ tell me!"

Yet again the sound of pacing filled the room – it was a small room, if Max could trust the echoes – and Nils' voice moved back and forth. "You have to wait. I'm sorry, but please… I know this is difficult-"

"Where are the other three? Chekov and Whitten and Patron?" Max shifted again, trying to follow the sound of Nils' shoes; for the most part he could only crane his head around, since his ankle was propped up on a pile of fabric and radiated pain whenever he tried to move it. "You're not making any sense!"

"Brooke – Maximillian, you're in pain, we're in a stressful situation, you hit your head – Please, Brooke! Max! Just… I wish I could help you. I wish I could, but-"

A door – a mechanical automatic door, definitely Starfleet made – flew open and two sets of footsteps accompanied it, two sets of rustling clothes and lungs breathing the old, dry air.

"The Enterprise has abandoned us," Sge announced. "There can be no other option." Undercutting his words – just on the edge of Max's hearing, there was the chatter of what could only be people. A great many people. ' _How? How did is this happening?_ What _is happening_?' Max asked himself. He had no answer, but then, he wasn't sure he wanted one. Sge stated, "They must think we're dead."

Max froze in place, but he wasn't moving enough for it to be noticeable. Some people thought that speaking tone was a categorical thing; those people were bad actors, assigning one cadence to one emotion and calling it a day. He would never understand how people could be happy living so unaware of the people around them; they heard but they did not _listen_. They understood words and maybe, occasionally, sometimes, knew what was really being said. They lied and did not realize they spilled all of their secrets in one sentence.

Anyone who worked with James T. Kirk for more than two minutes knew they would not be treated cruelly. They would be pushed, but not beyond their abilities. They would work and leave their families behind, but they would not be without friends, and maybe even a surrogate family for a time.

They would leave, but they would not be abandoned.

Sge was too certain. It was the only thing in his voice, certainty.

James T. Kirk never left his crew behind, and Sge never put all his chips on the table.

Sge was lying.

How could he have not heard it before? Nils was nervous, guilty even! Max had thought it was because of the situation, the tension, but no. No, Nils didn't want to be found out, caught in his lie. A terrible communicator; that was to what Max had attributed it. That tone. The slight shake behind his consonants and question in his words.

Nils was lying. Sge was lying.

"Nguyen?" Max asked the second pair of footsteps, now still and standing slightly behind the first, not two feet away from where Max sat on the floor.

"It's the only option."

Max's heart plummeted. Certainty. They were all in on it.

"Where are…" Max whispered, "Where are they? The others?"

"Dead," Sge stated. Again, all certainty.

Max did not know what to think about that. On the one hand, he knew all three of them were lying. Why should he trust their word? Especially when there was not a hint of anything else in Sge's words except that certainty, sharp as a blade. But, if he was a murderer, if he did make the decision that the death of two _kids_ and a friend were worth it… could Sge really be expected to feel anything?

All three of them took Max's silence as shock.

"Deal with it later," Nils said. It was a command. But with a touch of, perhaps, discomfort? It was the sound that made Max think of shifting feet and half-formed coughs, scratching and speaking to walls.

Nguyen followed up with, "With them gone, we've got to find a way out of here."

' _There_!' Max thought, triumphant, keeping his face as still as possible. ' _Thank you, Nguyen, for having no acting skill whatsoever!_ ' And indeed, he did not. The words were so stilted, so vague, there was nothing to attribute it to but rehearsal.

Chekov, Whitten, Patron! They weren't dead! They were gone! Escaped! Were they the hostiles, Max wondered? They could have been.

Regardless, he knew of one certainty: Nguyen, Sge, and Nils had gone rogue.

At that, another thought popped into Max's head uninvited. ' _And I am their hostage_.'

-0-

"So, for the most part I just want to get what happened straight in my head before we talk to anyone else about it. You understand, right Pavel?" Kirk asked.

' _Of course, I do_ ,' Pavel thought. ' _You've said that seven times now_.' What he said aloud was, "Captain, do you think we might get to your questions now?"

"Right. Yes. So…" Kirk cleared his throat. "You said that your team, you, Nils, and Sge, were on the way to the third vent you saw after landing on the planet. The signal from team two cut out, so you turned around to make your way back to the shuttle. I will tell you that from our point of view, you team's signal cut out about ten minutes later."

"Yes, and it cut out on our side, too. We were not in contact with the Enterprise or Brooke anymore and we still could not speak to team one." Pavel scuffed his heel on the ground, staring hard at the floor beneath his feet. The two of them were more ambling than walking; perhaps that was not the best idea if they wanted to get to engineering before Scotty gave himself an ulcer or a stroke, but Pavel didn't think that either of them were eager to deal with even more problems. And if there was one thing engineering was right then, it was a problem.

"Right, so, completely cut off from everyone else, you, by yourself, begin to run-"

"Yes."

"-and then hear someone running behind you."

"Yes."

"You either trip or were tackled-"

"Tackled. I'm sure it was tackled." Pavel winced at the look on Kirk's face; he almost felt sorry for Sge and Nils when Kirk got his hands on them.

"You were tackled and fell to the ground and then felt a prick in the back of your neck. You said it felt like a hypo." Kirk was a good captain, Pavel knew that without a shadow of a doubt, but he had forgotten that he was also a good person. Kirk could be reassuring even when asking people to relive a shocking or terrifying moment in their life; he was calm and never asked more at one time than someone could tell. Even the dry, simple statements had a calming effect, like he was saying that everything was that simple and could be dealt with just as easily.

"It felt exactly like a hypo." Pavel nodded, looking Kirk straight in the eyes and hoping he could convey how grateful he was for how Kirk was treating it. This felt casual. This felt like a conversation.

Pavel hated statement rooms. They reminded him of everything that had happened right after Khan.

"Okay, so you felt the sting from the hypo, and then looked over your shoulder and saw-"

"Nils holding a hypo. I don't know where he got it from," Pavel laughed. Everything was simple and could be dealt with. Easily. "It's not like full radiation suits have pockets."

Not even a moment later Kirk was smiling, too; if Pavel didn't know him better he would even say it was a natural smile, not a forced one. The captain was good at reassuring his crew, but that didn't mean he was immune to stress when one of them got hurt. That was especially true when that crew member was his friend, too, and Pavel counted himself lucky enough to be one of Jim Kirk's friends.

Not giving Kirk enough time to think, Pavel continued, "I wasn't all the way out yet and Sge was angry. He was pointing at the hypo and yelling at Nils. Nils looked a bit afraid and stood up, but Sge took the hypo away from him and hit me with it on the head. That was when I blacked out completely. After that I just remember waking up in Med Bay really confused with an awful headache."

Nodding, Kirk started to pick up the pace, taking long strides down the gleaming hallway; he was thinking, Pavel supposed, processing and planning his next move. After a minute spent in total silence, they were in the hall that lead to engineering. On the edges of his hearing, Pavel could just make out the blaring alarms. By the time they reached the door, it was clear that there were multiple sirens going off on the other side.

When the door finally slid open, Pavel burst out laughing.

"Glad you could make it." Scotty stood in the opening, drenched and dripping, splotched with soot and smoke, a limp ferret splayed over one shoulder. It twitched, fur sticking out in every direction, and Kirk took great care in removing Prize from Scotty's shoulder; after a quick inspection, he set it on the ground and told it to scurry to Med Bay. Pavel could have sworn Prize nodded before taking off, bounding away from the flashing red lights and deafening alarms. "We have a few-" All three of them winced at the sound of screeching metal in the background, followed by a crash. "- _problems_."

Three ensigns in red shirts ran past, just behind Scotty, two carrying towels and one carrying a device that looked more apt for torture than repair work.

"You don't say?"

-0-

 **Okay, so there we go. Chapter 33! From here on out, most or all chapters are going to be from multiple points of view. Unless you want this story to have 50 chapters and take another year, that's the way it's going to have to be.**

 **So. Who else has been playing Legend of Zelda Breath of the Wild way more than is probably healthy?**


	34. Chapter 34: War

**In which you get some explanation. Kind of.**

-0-

Chapter 34: War

"I keep telling you, I don't _know_ why those alarms are going off!" Montgomery Scott pounded his fist next to the console, which did nothing, not even shake the screen embedded in the wall; after a moment, he blinked and rubbed the wall where he had hit. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to get angry," he muttered at the metal plating.

Spock was not used to involuntary displays of emotion, but when his own eyebrows rose – both of them! – he could do nothing to stop it. Why would Mr. Scott apologize to the wall? Of course, he referred to the Enterprise as 'his lady,' but Spock had always assumed that was merely compliance with the age-old tradition of referring to maritime and star ships as females. Spock had never understood that tradition; in fact, he still did not, despite both Jim and Mr. Scott's attempts to clear up his confusion.

"Well then why the hell are my ears still ringing? If there's not a reason for those alarms, then turn them off!" Jim exploded. Spock did not quite wince - no, he did not go that far - but the captain's pitch was one that hit the dull pulse in his head, sending what could only be equated to a shockwave through the pain. Spock was not alone in that.

"Agh! Mr. Scott, please, I just got rid of a headache! Turn them off!" Chekov pleaded, hands over his ears. "I can't find any problems either – no one can! We can keep looking after, but just turn them _off_!"

"I'll need the captain's override-"

"Fine, fine, I'll do it! For God's sake, just kill this noise!" Jim insisted, leaning up against the wall where Scotty had pounded and craning his neck to see the screen of the console.

"Alright, one minute," Scotty grumbled to the wall. He jabbed at the buttons, with far more force than strictly necessary. Even Spock had to admit, he might have done the same under the circumstances. The noise was tantamount to deliberate torture.

" _Now_ , Scotty."

Jim leaned farther in and almost shoved Mr. Scott out of the way when the screen for captain's override popped up. Shouting his override code – Spock politely did his best not to listen – Jim punched the green confirm button. The silence began abruptly, swallowing engineering even as the final siren echoes faded away. The entire deck released a collective sigh, though no one cheered. Spock found that a little odd, given human displays of positive emotion. Even if their ears were not as sensitive as his own, they could still be bothered by multiple high volume alarms designed specifically to get attention; would not the alarms ceasing be cause for celebration?

Weakly, a few floors away across the deck, there came a half-hearted " _Yaay_ …" But for the most part, the crew members Spock could see were sagging against any and all available surfaces, closing their eyes and trying to ignore the residual ringing in their ears so they could enjoy the quiet.

"That," Chekov panted, "was _awful_."

"You three go ahead and leave. I'll set a few people to trouble-shoot in case we missed something." Scotty trotted off, pointing and commanding in a voice just a touch too loud; unsurprising. After being exposed to such a… _volume_ for an extended period of time, undoubtedly there would be some temporary hearing loss.

Spock turned and made for the exit at a pace he considered reasonable. When he made it to the door, though, Jim caught up to him smirking. "In a hurry?"

"Mr. Scott told us to leave. I am leaving. Is my pace too quick for you to match?" Spock intoned. Jim and Chekov both laughed. Spock almost blinked in shock; it was not often he made a joke and people understood it as one.

Or perhaps his record of humor misunderstandings remained untarnished.

"Wait." Jim stopped dead in the middle of the hall for a half of a second before he jogged a brief way to catch up. "Was that intentional? Did you just try to be _funny_?" he asked, too loudly. Given his character, Spock had a difficult time attributing his tone to _only_ potential hearing loss. "I don't believe it! Spock just made a joke! It's a day to record in history! Pavel, get a pen and paper! We need to write this down!"

Chekov only snickered before giving an apologetic smile to Spock. "Sorry for poking fun, Mr. Spock. We're not being serious."

"I understand."

Jim launched into another round of giggles. Spock wondered, perhaps he had made his tone too comical? It was odd; normally it was considered far too serious… Maybe there was something comical in seriousness at certain times? Earth humor never made any sort of sense. Attempting it was as if trying to divide by zero.

-0-

The lab was too bright in Uhura's opinion. Too bright and too loud. The lights emitted a stabbing glare, and the hum of the terminal was distracting, varying in volume and occasionally hitting a pitch that would only bother her and certain dogs. And Brooke. Clearly none of those things bothered Hikaru, though, who was relaxing on the floor and staring at the ceiling. He seemed fine, but the other reason Uhura could feel her nerves fraying was that she kept a close eye on him as well as her screen. Break ups were hard, but betrayal was harder. Especially when your significant other just happened to be involved in what Uhura was pretty sure was one of the biggest underground projects in Starfleet history, sanctioned by no committee or board or anything involving peer review. There were more than just two messages sent through the altered ILCA. And if she was right, none of them spelled good news for the Federation, much less the Enterprise.

In fact, if she was right the Enterprise was about to become the scapegoat of war crazed fanatics. Or perhaps not scapegoat. More like sacrificial lamb.

"What's up?" The question came from the floor where Sulu sat against the wall. "You look… freaked out."

"Thanks," she scoffed.

"Sorry, I was just wondering if I could help. That's why I came down here." Sulu's expression was carefully neutral, his comment innocuous. But he was probing for answers, no question about it. Apparently, she wasn't the only observant one; rapping her knuckles on her desk, she leaned back, thinking on how she needed to keep a tighter rein on her facial expression when working with other people in the room. ' _Don't discount someone just because you_ think _they're distracted,_ ' she thought. ' _Sulu's the most observant person on this ship, when it comes to human emotions, excepting Leonard and I. I need to be more careful. No one needs to know about this…_ catastrophe, _until I'm sure. And until the captain knows.'_ She took another moment to consider. ' _Still, of all the people on this ship, Sulu's also one of the most trustworthy.'_

Moments of tense silence persevered, punctuated by sharp changes in the pitch of the terminal's hum. Uhura intentionally did not twinge at the uptick in pitch, and Sulu seemed blissfully unaware of her private hell. She hated this lab. The rest were fine, their terminals perfect and silent, and as such this room was avoided like the plague by most everyone in communications or linguistics. That was why she had picked it, after all, but she was paying the price for her secrecy. That thought made her decision for her.

Uhura cleared her throat, though it was unnecessary. "I need you to promise not to tell anyone what I'm about to say." Okay, it was two steps forward, one step back, but it was progress!

-0-

Chekov was free. Whitten was free. Chekov was free. Whitten was free. Chekov was free. Whitten was free… but Chekov was friends with the captain and could definitely spur Kirk to action if he was on the fence about mounting a rescue for one Maximillian Rory Brooke. Right?

It wasn't that Brooke was beginning to have doubts – never that. It was just that sitting on a cold metal floor with a broken ankle for a good hour was unenjoyable, painful, and a good reason to want _out_ , ASAP. As if being kidnapped by a psychotic warmongering nutcase, a sociopath, and a coward intimidated into collaborating wasn't enough of a reason.

Over the past hour as Sge wandered in and out of Brooke's cell (and it was definitely a cell, not a room), it had become clear as… well, something that was clear, Brooke supposed. He knew he wasn't exactly the best person to come up with similes involving that phrase. ' _Ah-ha!_ ' A minor epiphany. ' _Clear as an empty room! That's one I can use! It's a different definition of "clear," sure, but it works!_ ' It was clear as an empty room that Sge was a hop, skip, and a jump over that line between genius and insanity. Every time he came in he was muttering more, laughing. Brooke could hear him smile through his words and loud assurances that Kirk wasn't coming back for them. Brooke could also hear how Nils' teeth began to chatter and grind whenever Sge shuffled into the room, Nguyen a silent shadow except for his firm, if quiet, steps.

As time wore on it became obvious that Brooke was a prisoner. No one said anything to that effect, but eventually the "assurances" that they had been abandoned by the Enterprise devolved into a farce, where not a single one of the three minded saying anything condemning in front of him. Cowering on the freezing floor, with the scent of stale, trapped air around him, Brooke supposed he wasn't much of a threat to… whatever this was. His ankle kept him in one spot and the more he thought about it, the more he figured Nils was only there to stay out of Sge's way instead of stopping Brooke's nonexistent escape attempts.

Just because he wasn't moving didn't mean he wasn't doing anything, though. Every time Sge came in, Brooke listened. As Sge became more unhinged, the more he said, rambling on about the river Rubicon, Caesar, starships, and a girl named Am'Lee. And then he started on about weapons and war and hate and power and destruction. And the end of the Enterprise.

Sge almost sounded regretful about that, but even the residue of sympathy was gone from his voice when his rant reached the command crew.

Brooke's parents had taught him what a sneer looked like; when he was little he would touch their faces and they would speak, teaching him what a person's voice sounded like when their mouth twisted like that. That had been clinical; it was a trial, an example. But, Sge's voice spewed his hatred like venom and dripped in revulsion; it was like the words themselves hung in the air and knotted themselves up. Brooke was very afraid those knots were for seven nooses. And maybe an eighth for Maximiliian Brooke.

-0-

McCoy sighed. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately; it was a bad habit.

Joanna was curled up on her side sound asleep, one arm outstretched as if reaching for something. Maybe…

To test his theory, McCoy reached for a small pillow on the shelf overhead, sixteen inches by ten, and slid it under her arm. Joanna curled around it, pulling the pillow to her stomach and smiling in her sleep. He knew it! She _did_ still sleep with a stuffed animal! He wondered if she knew that she snored… it wasn't very loud, but it was definitely there; she got it from him, he supposed. Rachel had never snored, but the witch had always complained about his "pig snorting." He had slept on the couch for three days after joking that she made it sound like pigs were hardcore drugs. McCoy smiled again; Joey had been three at the time and had ended up sleeping on his chest on the last night of his exile. His snoring had never bothered his daughter; perhaps that had been an omen for her own, though hers was closer to deep, whistle-y breathing than any sort of pig sounds.

He supposed he should be grateful for that, sitting so close to her.

It seemed odd that Joey should be asleep so soon after her… aggressive outburst; if there was one thing she had never lacked, it was energy. But there she was, sound asleep. With her eyes closed she almost looked like a kid. Like she had ten years before.

 _'I'm getting too damn nostalgic…. Just, focus on your job… medical stuff… right… Parasympathetic part of the autonomic nervous system slowing down the heart rate, decreasing respiration, and increasing digestion_ ,' McCoy thought. That was why she was asleep. It was the crash after an adrenalin rush. He just wished he knew for sure whether the adrenalin had come from her own adrenal glands or from those damned nanomachines. He figured it had to have been the nanomachines, and that was why she had woken up from the solanine sleep before she was supposed to; that thought was killing him from the inside out.

' _She's had a big day._ ' That was the other reason she was asleep, but he didn't want to focus on that one either. What she had told him, it was so similar to Pavel's story. A prick in the neck and seeing one of the team holding a hypo before blacking out and waking up in Med Bay. Luckily for Patron, still unconscious in the corner, she signed it had been Nguyen who had injected her with the solanine. McCoy wasn't supposed to know Pavel's side of the story yet, but he had no qualms about eavesdropping when necessary; the problem was Jim hadn't strictly _told_ McCoy what happened before they had dashed off to engineering.

McCoy didn't know what was going on down there, but so far he had three red shirts come in with severe headaches, one with a migraine, one with an electrical burn, and _five_ with some level of hearing loss. In half an hour. Never had McCoy been a violent man – and now he was bound by oath not to be – but until he was a little less upset he would try to avoid Scotty.

"I swear, I just don' understan' it!"

Sometimes McCoy cursed his luck. Oh, who was he kidding? McCoy cursed his luck the vast majority of the time.

Scotty trouped into Med Bay, gesticulating wildly and nearly hitting Jim in the face; of course, Jim only laughed it off. Why be upset about almost getting punched and breaking your nose? That would be crazy!

"Gentlemen." McCoy scowled. It was another bad habit, but one he enjoyed. Even Spock stood up just a little bit straighter in face of his furious expression. "Would someone mind explaining why I have so many engineering incident reports to fill out?"

" _You_ have to fill out?" Christine's irate voice exploded from the open door of her office across the room. She appeared in the door way not too long after, glaring at all five of them standing in the center of the room. "You? Really? Who do you think does most of the paperwork around here?" She whirled around and stalked out of sight, the door flying shut behind her.

"Just FYI," McCoy turned back around, "that would be me."

Jim smirked. "I don't know, Bones. She looked pretty serious."

"Yeah. Speaking of serious-" he started, but Scotty cut him off.

"We were having a bit of an issue with the alarms in engineering." It was a simple statement, said with a disconcerting amount of flippancy.

McCoy wondered if the tiny muscle spasm below his left eye was visible; his years of medical training said 'no,' but his paranoia was laughing 'yes' hysterically. "How about you tell me what 'an issue with the alarms' entails, and I tell you how much I want it fixed? That sound like a plan everyone's on board with?"

Scotty smiled through tired eyes pulled tight at the edges with stress. "All of the engineering-specific alarms were triggered at one time, but the vast majority of them didn't have a physical cause. It's like the alarms themselves were what was wrong. I'm having a few of those blargheraling, bumbling-excuses-of-engineers take a look at it. Hopefully we'll find what's wrong. Before too much longer."

"Good, 'cause now is not the time for these kinds of issues. Have we gotten an update about the status of the away team? Teams?" McCoy corrected, though his stomach tied in knots just saying it. He let go of his shirt sleeve; that was another bad habit. He was just chock full of them, wasn't he?

Spock cleared his throat; was that a hint of a crease on his forehead? What on Earth- er, what in space could cause that? Probably a septenary star system. "I was just about to contact Lieutenant Uhura and ask after her progress. Would you like to join me if I visit the linguistics and communications labs?"

Before McCoy answered his eyes flicked over to where Joanna was asleep on the biobed; Christine had left her office without him noticing, mountains of paperwork apparently abandoned as she checked the patients scattered around the room. Even though Frost was still missing – not one person knew or cared where she was – the rest of the nurses were on the ball, milling around in corners and shuffling PADDs with patient information. After waiting for the other shoe to drop, most of the nurses were more than happy to have something to do with the flood of engineers. Christine had them well in hand, surveying their work out of the corner of her eye as she marched from bed to bed.

"Sure," McCoy replied finally. Med Bay was in good hands if he had to leave for a while.

-0-

Sulu sat next to the edge of Uhura's work station, the faint, happy hum of the terminal and her occasional grumbles making up the only sounds; he hadn't understood a single one of her mutters so far. Two or three might have even been Klingon, growled lowly with a guttural edge that Sulu had thought only a true Klingon could achieve. Turns out the right ancestry wasn't necessary to make that rumble, only frustration and fury put on a slow simmer. Unlike most of the other labs on the ship, the individual communication labs were carpeted, which meant sitting on the floor in one was about as comfortable as sitting on a piece of steel with a towel tossed over it. Still, Sulu figured the scratchy, grey carpet was more comfortable than a piece of steel all on its own, and so was content to just plop down and stare at the ceiling. It was a plain ceiling, though, with nothing so interesting to look at as that stain in the corner McCoy's office. Sulu had always thought that dark tan splotch looked like a bear, but whenever he brought it up Kirk protested – vehemently – that it was a fluffy bunny. Verbatim. Kirk always mentioned the fluffy part.

Sulu had been sitting there contemplating the ceiling, Uhura's grumbles, and life and its imminent end ever since Uhura had told him of her suspicions about the ILCA hack...A massive project completed by an underground faction of Starfleet in order to start a war? Well, where had he heard that before? Even in his own head, the sarcasm was biting. According to Uhura, though, it was the same group that had been involved with the Khan attack; that was her idea, anyway, that the group had been much larger than originally thought and carried on even after Khan's defeat and Admiral Marcus' death.

"OH, this is where you are!" All at the same time, Sulu's head snapped down, his eyes flew to the door, and he jumped what felt like a foot in the air… though realistically it couldn't have been more than a few inches. Entering the room were Spock, McCoy, and the captain, single file, gold-blue-blue. As the door shut behind McCoy with a quick _fwisch_ , Kirk continued. "You know, you kind of disappeared after Pavel and I went down to engineering."

"Sorry, Captain." Sulu leapt to his feet and stood straight as an arrow, back against the wall. "I didn't think I was needed. And it's not my turn at the helm, so I came down here to see what I could do for Lieutenant Uhura."

"And what have you done, exactly?" Uhura muttered at the screen, just loud enough to be sure they all heard.

"Absolutely nothing," grinned Sulu. It was true. All he had done so far was listen. At Spock's raised eyebrow – it was amazing just how much he could say with a twitch of a single muscle – Sulu said, "I've been sitting on the floor waiting for something to happen."

Kirk snorted. "And let me guess. _Absolutely nothing_ happened?"

At first, Sulu didn't respond. There were several things he could say; in addition to contemplating the end of days, he had been mentally categorizing all the information about Patron he knew so that they could figure out why he had been involved in… whatever was going on. Sulu had heard Pavel described to Kirk what had happened on the planet and was pretty sure McCoy had been eavesdropping, too. Injections by a hypo filled with solanine? Why? He'd been thinking about that… he had a few ideas, but they were supported by a few things that Uhura had told him while she was decoding the transmission. That was the other thing he had been pondering, categorizing, dissecting. It was a conundrum, and the more Uhura worked, the more Sulu felt like he was being wrung from the inside out by what he knew. Finally, he said, "I think Lieutentant Uhura should tell you what she's found."

Her expression didn't twitch. She wasn't happy. Maybe she had wanted a little more time to sort everything out.

But based on what he had heard, time was one thing they did not have in abundance.

-0-

Of course, Sulu just had to open his big mouth! He just had to jump in just as she was trying to figure out a tactful way to say, 'We're all so screwed there is not a scale on which we can measure how screwed we are because this amount of screwed-ness has never before been achieved by any situation in which things were screwed or _worse_.'

They were all staring at her. She didn't mind that so much. What she did mind was the scratching sound McCoy's sleeves were making as he pulled at them.

Finally, she drew a deep calming breath. "We, the Enterprise as a whole, are an inclined plane wrapped around a cone."

"That is unfortunate." Of course, Spock was the first one to get that. She was proud of him, actually; she had been trying to teach him Earth slang and there was no way he would have understood her meaning if he hadn't been trying to apply what he learned from her. Not too long after, the other three caught on – though Sulu had a bit more context than McCoy and Kirk – and then they were all staring at her for an entirely different reason.

"Okay. Just how screwed _are_ we?"

-0-

Sge had accounted for everything. He had only been on the planet for a few hours but he already felt more intrinsically connected with his plan than he had in years of short burst communications.

Sure, ultimately, he wasn't the one in charge, calling the shots, but he had a fair amount of influence on the project. It was his responsibility; his baby, even, though he was sure his daughter would have resented the title.

Am'lee had been a beauty when she was younger, so full of life and energy and hope; so many times his wife had said they would need to circle the wagons when Little Lee got older to keep all the suitors out. Sge had agreed. No one was good enough for Am'Lee.

Except she was an adventurous one. New worlds were exciting. And who could say no to the eager face of Little Lee, though she wasn't too little by that time. All grown up – well, not quite, she was going to a private boarding school off planet – and off to explore newly colonized worlds. It had been just a little too close to the neutral zone for comfort, but that region had been quiet for years. What could happen?

A rogue vessel is what could happen, or at least that was what they had called it. A rogue operative not acting on the directives of the Klingons, just on its own. And taking out half of a settlement with it.

The Federation accepted the _farce_ of that rogue Bird-of-Prey. What else could they do but try to keep the peace?

Why keep something that was dying, was what T'kao Sge wanted to know. When you have a dog that's terminally ill and suffering every day, you put it to sleep. A horse breaks a leg, you put it down. The peace had been broken so many times on both sides. Why were they clinging to the past and denying the inevitable? Even worse, why were they not even _preparing_ should the worst come to pass?

Blind optimism had never saved anyone.

Sge smiled at the black paneling under his palms.

He had prepared for every eventuality, made every back up plan. That had come in handy, in the beginning. The Chekov kid suffering mood swings every hour and _no one_ had thought that it might be prudent to remove him from duty? Had that ridiculous child even filed a report about getting beat up the day of the Enterprise rechristening? Had anyone even noticed that he had been so out of sorts that day? Maybe that child's state was just another casualty of the apathetic peace. Sure, T'kao had caused some of Chekov's problems, but they were really only building off preexisting ones, trying to point them out. Was it really his fault if no one noticed and tried to help?

Chekov gotten help this time, though, hadn't he?

That was the one hiccup that Sge couldn't really find it in himself to ignore. He had only managed to nab one out of three targets, and that one was the one with the least amount of leverage, Maximillian Brooke.

T'kao stroked the black metal plating again. Doing that calmed him down, he had discovered not two hours earlier. It was almost an impulse now, the need to see and feel for what he had been working.

This was an event that had been planned for, losing the two most important, just as everything else had been planned and mapped. Nothing could go wrong now, at least not so wrong that he wouldn't succeed in his mission.

Sge tapped the metal disc of the starship again, tearing himself away – finally – so he could stride along the high, raised platform to make his way to the stairs; it was a long way down to the holding cells where his lone leverage was being kept. The caverns on the planet were vast, big enough for the fleet that he had helped make, plan, develop, protect; the fleet so similar and yet so far advanced from what anyone had dared to make with the peace treaty in effect.

He had done it! He might not have welded or engineered the advanced warp drive or helped recover what had been abandoned when Khan had lost, but he, T'kao Sge, had made this possible.

Seven towering starships loomed in the darkness, complete and ready to begin their mission, equipped with standard Federation _and_ salvaged Klingon weapons, convincing enough in their resultant damage to show the world how dangerous those Klingons were, lying in wait at the edge of unexplored territory, lying in wait to destroy helpless explorers.

Inconvenient explorers, Sge sneered to himself. That idealist Kirk surrounded himself with the largest bunch of dupes Sge had ever seen collected in one place, and Sge had taken his daughter to more than one stadium boy band concert. Apparently, it had been a different band every time, but honestly, how could you tell?

Once on the ground, Sge gave a final smile up at his favorite of the ships, the last one finished, the Rubicon; it was an informal name, as of yet, but surely it was going to be called so, once unveiled. He had made several recommendations over the course of the project. The starship, gleaming darkly in the hanging shadows of the cavern, grinned at him from its place of honor, the forefront of a revolution. The Rubicon knew how close they were to making an end of the dying treaty, and smiled for it; Sge's own creation, smiling for the future! There was a reason he felt joy whenever he came to this cavern.

T'kao Sge had made the only solution to an apathetic peace.

War.

-0-

 **I liked writing that one! It took a while, but I feel like the result is worth it.**

 **…what do you mean I just forgot all about Sulu and his INCREDIBLY MAJOR PLOT-LINE in chapter 33 and needed to shoehorn in a way for him to pop back up in this chapter? That's silly. Hahaha. Haha. Ha. Ha. Ha.**

 **Ha.**

 **Clearly, I need to work on a few things before I actually publish a novel.**

 **I feel bad about leaving this story alone for so long, so here's a sneak peek of the next chapter:**

She had ended up on the Enterprise anyway, in the perfect position to make trouble and in none at all to meet with an unfortunate 'accident.' His plan had a beauty to it and accounted for this kind of snafu, but he really didn't want to take it this far. The poor thing deserved a quick death, not kidnapping and terror before ultimately being killed, leading her father and his friends to their doom.

But it wasn't as if that plan had worked either.

The next plan – there was always another – had her dying a martyr with the rest of the Enterprise crew, as soon as everyone competent was removed from duty. That was the only part of the plan that had a chance of failing at this point. That boy Kirk worked miracles from paperclips and stardust, not a trait Sge appreciated in an adversary.


	35. Chapter 35: Fear

**Hi. I'm back. Shocking, right?**

-0-

Chapter 35: Fear

The plan had been simple.

 _Had_ was the operative word in that sentence.

Still, despite all of the setbacks where things _should_ have been easy - and smooth sailing where the anxiety had him eating his fingernails - Sge had made it to this point, this point on the brink of a world scoured clean. It would never be ideal – never _could_ be ideal; he considered himself a realist – but this was a step, a sure and steady step, in the right direction. That step had started slowly, an idea blooming in the minds of Admirals Marcus and Gallagher, nurtured by none other than Sge himself, of course. They hand-picked the students of the Academy, the ones that would help them. The ones with a… _leaning,_ one might say, in the correct direction. Every once and a while recruiting hit a snag. Admitting his mistake of bringing Whitten into the fold had taken a lot out of T'kao; he had figured her natural _inclination_ , her natural aggression, would make her a perfect candidate. That aggression _did_ manifest itself… but it was against the suggestion of a militarized Starfleet, not for. Passing it off as a thought exercise had not been easy, but he had managed it, even encouraging her to continue her research into malformed star systems and their energy output. It had been convenient at the time, but that left her as a loose end. Intending to leave her on Earth – out of sight, out of mind – was not enough, not when she had enough ambition for ten people. She had ended up on the Enterprise anyway, in the perfect position to make trouble and in none at all to meet with an unfortunate 'accident.' His plan had a beauty to it and accounted for this kind of snafu, but he really didn't want to take it this far. The poor thing deserved a quick death, not kidnapping and terror before ultimately being killed, leading her father and his friends to their doom.

But it wasn't as if _that_ plan had worked either.

The next plan – there was always another – had her dying a martyr with the rest of the Enterprise crew, as soon as everyone competent was removed from duty. That was the only part of the plan that had a chance of failing at this point. That boy Kirk worked miracles from paperclips and stardust, not a trait Sge appreciated in an adversary.

The same could be said of the kid, the child, Chekov. Did he really know what he was getting into? Aside from wanting him out of the way practically speaking, Sge had also wanted Pavel Andreivich Chekov to be left behind for his own safety.

Sge had tried. Admiral Gallagher had certainly tried. And Admiral Marcus would have tried, too, if he hadn't been dead a year at that point. They had all made so many attempts to remove Chekov from duty before he ever boarded… and even after he did. All for naught. The little Russian whiz kid was still on the Enterprise.

So far, the only successful try at removing competent leaders and innovators from where they could make trouble was in getting Brooke confined to the holding cells in the lower levels of the caverns. That was a success worth celebrating; the rest of the successes would have to wait, though.

The plan was still elegant – all of his plans had that quality – but now it looked more like lace instead of a placid, direct line.

And there was a slowly pulling thread, taking the delicate, beautiful pattern with it. Patron had yet to make contact. The third away team from the Enterprise – this one with _none_ of their people in it, just like the second team when the captain came down! – was still on the surface of the planet and had thus far found nothing; he was sure they never would, but it would be nice to know whether or not he had to be concerned about _another_ team coming down to the surface.

And exactly how much had the Pavel child seen before he finally blacked out? He knew they should have used a real sedative. That brought up another question; did he remember any of it? What had Whitten seen, and did she remember any of it? What would they say if they did?

Sge knew his plan was still foolproof, though. Indestructible in the long run. Even if it did look more like lace with a few threads out of place. He wished he didn't have to use so many backup plans.

-0-

It was yet another meeting room, this one tucked away in the corner of the linguistics labs, squashed between two sound booths. Comfortably furnished, it was one of the only meeting rooms on the Enterprise with chairs that did not look like you would slide off of them after two seconds; they were padded, and swung out from the table on sturdy plastic struts painted to look like wood. The table was made of that same material, at least around the edges, and the floor had the scratchy carpet on it. If the green color clashed with the bright blue of the seats, so be it, Scotty figured; it was still the homiest lab on the ship, except for the ones in engineering. Those would always have the kind of simplicity and function he appreciated.

Homey as the linguistics meeting room was, it was also a cozy little space, with only five chairs clustered around the pentagonal table, and the walls well within arm's reach when seated. Packing seven people in there was not an easy chore, but they had managed it, Scotty saw from his vantage by the door. With Kirk seated at the far side of the room, and Sulu and Spock taking the chairs at his sides, the only people's faces he could not see were Pavel's and Uhura's. Standing squeezed into the corner on Kirk's right, McCoy's face was thrown into a murky grey shadow by the solitary ceiling light even as it illuminated his shirt to the point where its blue rivaled that of chairs' upholstery.

There were supposed to be two lights in here, Scotty knew. He would have the hide of whoever let that second one go out, even if this room wasn't used too often. Or at all. That was part of the reason they were in there, actually.

"Okay," McCoy said, face still in shadow. "Cards on the table. All of you. We need to get this show on the road."

"I concur, Doctor." Spock didn't waste a glance for McCoy, training his eyes on Scotty, who suddenly felt like there was one very large eye peering out at him from the ceiling. An uncomfortable sensation. "Perhaps Mr. Scott would like to share what he learned of the alarms?"

"Nothing good, I'm afraid." Scotty's back felt like someone had shoved a piece of steel in place of his spine and his stomach was rolling; the imaginary eye in the ceiling didn't move, though. Glancing once at the singular lamp suspended on its wire, he began, "I don't know where to begin." Not such a good place to start, he knew, but it wasn't like it was going to get much better from there. "There's so much wrong and so much… not. I know that doesn't sound like a problem, but if you recall-"

"Every single one of those damn alarms went off. Yeah, trust me, we remember," Kirk said, running clumsy hands over a face that was a decade older than usual.

"Yes, every single _engineering_ specific alarm went off. There are several systems that are shared between departments but aren't ship wide. Those didn't go off, even the ones that include engineering. However, on starting a full _physical_ check on operations instead of ordering the computer to do it, I discovered a whole host of problems. This is worse because the computer – despite the fact that the alarms were all set off at once – didn't recognize a problem. That's part of the reason it took me so long to turn the sirens off; the computer didn't even know they were on in the first place. Which means-"

"That one of the things that's broken is the alarms." Kirk waved his hand as if to say 'speed it up, we're burning daylight.' Scotty idly mused in the back of his head that that phrase did not have any real meaning in space.

"Ya know, Captain, this would go a lot faster if you'd stop interrupting me." When Kirk displayed the good grace to look abashed, Scotty continued, "Yes, the alarms are broken. As all of you know, we're on yellow alert-" the blinking console in the wall was hard to miss "- but I cannae guarantee that if we were to switch to red alert that the sirens and automated announcement system would follow. I also cannae guarantee that the alert for an overheating warp core would go off. So, you can understand why this is a problem. I have a team on it now. They're sure to get it fixed. Also have ensigns monitoring critical systems manually, just to be on the safe side. Nothing serious is malfunctioning. Yet. But If the computer didn't realize the alarms were on, there's bound to be other problems it just doesn't see. Fixing the alarms will do us no good if the ship's computer doesn't know there's anything the matter with an overheating system or failed… anything, really. Already we've found two systems close to failure that didn't show up on the computer. And there was one that the computer reported as badly damaged that is actually, well, _optimized_. Every single one of my engineers are active right now, looking for problems. Most of them are, as I said, manually monitoring systems or fixing the ones that are broken. The rest are trying to sort out the computer issues…" He paused. "With the help of some of Mr. Spock's science officers." Scotty inclined his head toward Spock. Marginally. It was frustrating having to rely on someone else's help in his own department.

"So, layman's terms, the computer's parameters for a failing system have been changed, and even if those parameters are met, we don't know if the computer will tell us about the malfunction before we end up adrift in the icy, soul-sucking, darkness of space," McCoy said through a growl. "Or just plain ol' blown sky high." Another phrase that lost all meaning off planet, Scotty noticed. McCoy's hand disappeared into the shadow over his face, probably rubbing his forehead. "Perfect. Just _perfect_."

Spock twisted around in his seat to look behind him at the corner. And the disgruntled CMO standing in it. "It is impossible to be blown sky-high, Doctor, as a sky requires an atmosphere-"

"Not the time, sweetie." How Uhura managed to shut Spock up when the man was two inches away from driving McCoy over the edge, Scotty could not fathom. As it was, McCoy really did seem primed to lean forward and strangle the Vulcan life out of him, oath of nonviolence or no.

Scotty blinked; Spock had just ground his teeth. It had to be his imagination. "It was a poor attempt at humor," Spock said through a tightened jaw. Not imagination then. "My apologies."

"Accepted," McCoy muttered into the collar of his shirt, glaring out from the shadow over his eyes. Tense was an almost childish term for the feeling in the room.

The damn metaphorical glaring eye in the ceiling would not go away… and that disturbing image would not stop nagging Scotty, always cropping back up just after he banished it to the recesses of his mind. Scotty tapped his heel against the wall, and then everything was still, the only movement the flashing yellow light of the wall console and the only noise the faint whisper from the vent high in the corner. Uhura's eye twitched and she shot the vent a look that should have made all the air in the room vacate the premises. It was a good thing oxygen and nitrogen molecules were not in possession of a consciousness, or every person in there would have suffocated in a sudden and impossible vacuum.

It was also a good thing that Scotty's rampant and morbid imagination stopped on the inside of his skull and did not extend into the real world. If it did, all of them would have died several times over already.

"Dr. McCoy-" Every head in the room spun to face Pavel. His voice was oddly strong and… confident. Scotty didn't remember hearing that tone out of him for a very long time. "I believe that you should share what we talked about in your office. About the nano technology."

McCoy heaved a sigh - 'heaved' was the only word for it. Exhaustion, sorrow, anger, and something that defied description filled that single breath and when it was released, Leonard seemed to sink against the wall, the tired bruising under his eyes creating a deeper darkness in the shadow thrown over his face. "Thanks, kiddo. Was just about to suggest that. Wish I didn't have to, but since you said it first-" He cut himself off. "Might as well."

-0-

Christine, with all of her years of experience in the medical field, was not fazed by much, and surely a 6'5" Orion curled up on a biobed crying could not be considered too out of the ordinary in their field. Lots of people have adverse reactions to waking up in MedBay after an away mission. And _all_ of the people that woke up in MedBay in handcuffs usually flipped out a little bit. If for different reasons.

"Please," Kater sobbed, for what seemed the fifth time in a row. "What did I do? Tell me what I did!" The cuffs made sharp clangs on the low metal bars that had been erected on the sides of the biobed, stabbing at the small knot of a headache that was forming in Christine's head.

Massaging her temples – even though she knew it would do no good – she took a deep gulp of air. Not that it would help. She wished she could think of something _would_ help. "For the fourth time-" Christine cut herself off; she knew she was on edge but getting snippy with a patient, traitor or not, was unacceptable. "You are going to have to wait until the Captain or Doctor McCoy return, Mr. Patron."

"Why? What's so bad that you can't tell me about it?"

In all honesty, Chrstine didn't know. Not precisely at any rate, but she had gleaned that Kater Patron and a few of his cronies were responsible for the state that Leonard's daughter and Lieutenant Chekov were in when they came up from the planet. And if that was the case, Christine just decided to heap all of the Enterprise's problems on him – the engineering alarms she had heard of from red shirts in tones just a touch too loud, the unusual and frankly disturbing stellar situation they found themselves in, and poor Brooke's disappearance. Though apparently, that was to be laid at Sge's feet. But Christine knew for a damn fact that Hikaru Sulu bawling his eyes out as quietly as he could manage very well WAS to be laid at Kater's feet. And if that was the case she didn't feel an ounce of guilt at mentally blaming Mr. Patron for everything else as well.

-0-

Pavel felt his face heat and knew – he just knew! – that everyone could see his blush of embarrassment. Doctor McCoy had been explaining the nanobots and the general gist of Pavel's mental health for quite some time, and every time the doctor took a breath or a sip of water or reached the conclusion of a particular point, Pavel watched the faces around the room morph. With his back to the door the way it was, Pavel couldn't look over his shoulder to see Mr. Scott's face, but he could hear a faint and ever-present growl that was more than likely coming from his throat.

"And that about sums it up," Doctor McCoy finally finished, rubbing the back of his neck and looking down at the table.

The stunned silence that followed his unceremonious conclusion only lasted a second before almost everyone began to speak at once.

"Doctor McCoy-"

Scotty's voice immediately boomed over Spock's, "I _cannae_ believe you'd-"

"Bones, the **hell** -"

"What! Leonard-"

Spock, despite the general outcry, continued to speak at the same, clipped pace. "-do you mean to express that you falsified official Starfleet-"

"-think tha' _we'd_ think tha'-"

"-were you **thinking,** not telling me as **soon** as-"

Uhura was looking wildly between Doctor McCoy and Pavel, head swiveling to the point that Pavel had to start wondering if it could come off. "-please tell me that you have some sort of solution to all-"

"-psychological evaluations, which could have very well endangered the crew and your patient?" Pavel couldn't help but feel a little bit insulted by that.

"-the laddie would do _anything_ to hurt himself?" Pavel wished he could see Mr. Scott's face so he could smile at him. Disbelief. That was more like it.

Kirk had sprung out of his seat, glaring at his friend in the corner. "-you found out about these nano- **whatevers** -"

"-this insanity. This kind of conversation cannot be-"

Kirk punched the table, and Pavel jumped a mile in the air; he had thought the captain had gotten over those kinds of outbursts. "-patient confidentiality be **damned**! No offense, Pav-"

"-as helpful as you seem to thi-"

The table jumped and screeched across the floor, skidding as Sulu leapt up, bellowing, "SHUT UP, EVERYBODY!" All six other people in the room stared at him, frozen in a scene of utter pandemonium. Even Spock had raised his eyebrows and was half out of his seat. Turning to him, Sulu assumed his command stance, as Pavel called. "Yes, Spock, Doctor McCoy said he lied about the psych eval. He already talked about that. He already explained it. There are no more questions to be had on that topic. Or at least there _better_ not be." Sulu turned to Mr. Scott and Pavel shrank down in his seat, so he could feel like Sulu was talking over his head instead of at him. It didn't work. "Doctor McCoy does not want you to believe that Pavel would intentionally hurt himself, but since that's what everyone else believed a year and a half ago, it was required for context." Sulu glared over Uhura. "He already explained that he ran simulations for the required protein or enzyme or whatever he's using to deactivate the nanobots-"

Doctor McCoy opened his mouth a raised one of his hands from where he had been pulling on the hem of his shirt only to be cut off before he got the chance to speak.

"The specifics aren't important right now, Doctor," Sulu said, "AND explained why he and Pavel decided to hold off using them. And as for you-" Sulu marshalled all of the command he could muster, all that he had used when threatening the Klingon homeworld with 72 missiles, and spun to face the captain, "Patient confidentiality is a cornerstone of the medical world and both Doctor McCoy and Pavel agreed to tell you when that information became relevant. Which it now has. And none of you are allowed to throw anymore hissy fits for the rest of this meeting." He sat down, _calmly_. Which was about as _calmly_ as vinegar and baking soda trapped in a bottle.

Spock slowly lowered himself back into chair while next to him Kirk just fell backwards. "We have got to get you your own command." Kirk smirked at Sulu, not entirely joking.

"I am fine where I am, sir." Sulu still smiled, though, glancing from Kirk to Pavel.

But, the worst was far from over; Pavel let out a sigh and scrubbed his hand through his hair. "While we're coming clean about… me… It's about… right before we boarded…" It was maybe the first time in ten minutes that Pavel had spoken and he trailed off uncertainly. Silence prevailed.

"Do you know something? About the blood on the shuttle on the way to the Enterprise?" Well, it's not surprising that was the first thing that came to Doctor McCoy's head, even if it was wildly off track.

"No, no. It was a few days before that."

-0-

The conversation stalled.

There was a flash of something across Patron's face, a blink of emotion that Christine might not have seen if she hadn't been looking for it. No one was a good enough actor to get past her. It was how she always knew when Leonard was over worked, when a patient was covering up pain. When a traitorous scum bag who broke the heart of a friend of a friend decided to lie and cheat and scam his way into a trusted position and think he was immune.

No. No, he was not immune. Not this time. Not when he had gotten away with hiding secrets that had hurt her crew, the crew that was every bit as much hers as Leonard's.

Patron didn't seem to realize that she had seen that flicker, that blip on the radar. The mistake that had cost him any chance at believability. She had seen hatred in his eyes, gleaming alongside the sort of madness that only came from an addiction to power. On the Enterprise, she had seen… situations… Situations where one party seemed to relish in cruelty, deceit of another group.

Often when one group took advantage of another they did not rejoice in it – they did not realize they were hurting others. It was still unforgiveable, since one should always be aware of the consequences of one's actions, but… It was a different kind of unforgiveable. Actions rooted in good intentions could result in awful tragedies. Actions taken when no one stopped to think about who they could hurt could be even worse. She had heard of and seen more than enough of those. But worse, in her eyes, were the actions of those who looked for opportunities to hurt, who found an art in cruelty. Worse was when strategies were devised to make a life a living hell for others. Worse was when intentions, good or otherwise, were disregarded entirely and plans were warped to solely cause pain.

Christine's throat seized up and she could feel her face tighten and fear creep onto her features, and then that gleaming hatred was back in Patron's eye, painted all over his face. She had never claimed to be a good liar, only to be good at catching them.

Why hadn't she managed to catch this one in time?

-0-

The story started with silence, Pavel staring at a brown smudge on the tabletop, avoiding all of the eyes in the room. He debated for a while the best way to start. But, there didn't seem to be one. He said the first thing he thought of, the words that had been begging to be said.

"The only way I can describe the last two years is… grey. I know that sounds odd. Odd, at best, really. But everything is muted when I look back. Like it's all been washed away.

"I remember the day of the memorial. I don't think I've ever seen anything like it. It only took a year to repair the Enterprise. It may be like a little city, but repairing a big city, a _real_ city, takes time. San Francisco still had scars. Has scars. I saw them on the way to the hill, to the memorial; I rode in the same car as Hikaru, but he was staring at the back of the passenger's side head rest and wasn't looking out the window. I didn't want to see the inside of the car – it was too dark. The clouds made the outside a dark green, but the car was black inside. I don't know why it was so much darker… But it was… So, I looked outside; it was raining some times and not at others. It took us forty-five minutes to get to the hill, and the weather changed. We drove past empty lots where buildings used to be. We drove past buildings that still had scaffolding around them because the contracting companies were stretched too thin and the building owners didn't have enough money to make their job a priority. I remember reading an article about that, maybe a month after… well, Khan. Lots of people were angry that the contractors were taking bribes to prioritize work.

"The city had scars. I saw them, and… I wondered why people let those lots sit open. Didn't put something in them. When I was guest speaking, teaching in Academy classes at the smaller campuses, I went to New York. I walked past an old building, falling apart, and in the alley next to it there was a tiny market. It sold flowers. They were all yellow and pink and red. When we were driving past those lots, I wondered why nobody was doing something like that, making the empty spaces pretty again. Full. Maybe nobody wanted to look at the empty lots. Maybe… they wanted to look and remember what happened, but all I saw was… nothing. I wondered - I still wonder – what stood in those spaces before. I didn't think to look at the buildings at either side to figure it out; they just made the dirt look emptier.

"The hill looked empty when we got there, too. I remember wondering where all the people were. The parking lot was full – what passed for a parking lot. It was a field. They had the cars drive off the road and onto that gravel path and then off the gravel path onto the grass. The ground was already soaked and the tires kicked up mud. Well, the cars that had tires, anyway. You could see it on the doors and the bumpers. My socks got wet when I got out of the car. I stepped in a puddle. Got the hems of my pants wet, too. I don't know why they didn't have the memorial at headquarters and I really don't know why they chose that hill. Maybe because you could see the city. They probably wanted everyone to see the new buildings going up, but all I saw was the mud. I don't know why city mud is grey, but it is; it's dingier than the buildings. Those at least have windows, but the mud in the empty lots is… um…"

Pavel blinked; he saw the smudge on the table. It was all he had been looking at while he had been talking, but this was the first time since he had started talking that he actually _saw_ it instead of the sights of that heavy day. "I didn't see the people on the hill, when we got out of the car. All we could see from our parking spot was the back of the slope. I wondered if we were in the right spot, even if all the cars were there. We walked up to our seats right before it started. When that Admiral started speaking, I could only wonder if they had been waiting for us to show up, and I know my face was red for at least the first ten minutes. After that I just looked at the city. I don't remember the service well at all. Sorry, Captain. I know your speech must have been good. I heard people talking about it later.

"I only paid attention when everyone started standing up. We stood at attention but I don't know for how long. After that everyone drove back to headquarters. It was so crowded, _too_ crowded, so I took a walk. I went outside, since it had stopped drizzling. The sun wasn't out and the light was… thin. Like it the clouds strained all the warmth out of it. The sidewalk wasn't clean; there were lots of leaves on it. I remember that… Weird thing to remember. And then I just started crying while I walked. I hadn't cried all day. Actually, I don't think I had cried in a while, then. I don't think I have in while now, either. When I stopped walking… I was in between two buildings, that little nook with the prickly bushes in the corner where they grew out through the concrete. I always used to go there when I was in the Academy. It's quiet and there aren't any benches so no one else likes it, even if they know about it. Which not a lot of people do. I cried for a few minutes. Not much. Not loudly. I kept asking myself, 'What have we done?' I didn't understand the question then. And I don't think I do now, either. I don't know what the question means, or why I was asking it. I don't even know if I was asking it out loud or not. I think 'we' might have been us. The Enterprise. But I don't… _know_ … It was probably guilt, though. But it's weird, if you think about it, to not really _know_ why you're asking a question.

"After a while, six guys walked into the alley. I still don't know who they were. They yelled at me. Said it was my fault. I figured that they lost someone. In the Khan attack. When they tried to attack me, I didn't let them. You'd think, given how out of it I was… but I fought back. I didn't get hurt; only a little pinprick of blood on my arm. I don't know where it came from, but I guess I must have hit those prickly bushes at some point. Weird that my clothes weren't torn, though.

"I don't remember their faces, but I remember their expressions. They were surprised. Surprised that I tried to fight back. Or surprised that I even could. Maybe both, who knows? I guess I don't know a lot of things. I think I was surprised, too, at me fighting. When it was over – another thing I don't know is how long it took – I walked to the meeting room. I didn't tell anyone about it. Thought it would be too much trouble since even then I wouldn't have been able to pick all six of them out of a lineup of seven. Funny how memory works. I remember that the hems of pants were dry by then. I remember my socks were still wet from the puddle. But, I can't remember their faces."

-0-

"Christine?" Patron's voice was jarringly smooth after the prickly silence. She strangled her terror – it didn't matter what he had seen on her face so long as she kept control of… Had his eyes always been that dark of a green? Where had that shadow come from? "You seem frightened Christine. Is something the matter?"

Her eye twitched. "No."

"Oh." He looked down at the cuffs holding his hands in place, at ease. There were no remnants of his feigned fear from earlier or that hatred that had chilled her. "In that case, would you happen to have the time?"

"The time." She didn't phrase it as a question, but it was clearly there: Why?

"Yes. I seem to have lost track since I was unconscious." All said in a perfectly reasonable tone. Patron's demeanor was changing on a dime and Christine didn't know what to make of it. Did he honestly think that after his act of panic before she would trust anything he said? Probably not. That must be why he had given up.

"1400 hours." She hadn't seen the harm in telling him. It was only the time. But… that slow smile. What was Kater…

He chuckled. "You're all dead. I may be, too, soon. But that doesn't matter too much. Oh, you're surprised?" Christine tried to tell herself that Kater was _trying_ to be unnerving, but the thought would not stay in one place long enough to be convincing; it kept flying out of her head whenever Kater took a slow, steady breath. "Don't be shocked. You all should have seen this coming a mile away. It was Sge's plan, and however much he thinks himself a schemer, he's not the subtlest of the bunch. Seven stars in one system? Around a stationary planet? It's like he wanted to be caught. But that planet! For all its… lack of finesse… beautiful. A work of art. A weapon of mass destruction on a scale never before seen." Christine arched an eyebrow in what she hoped was a halfway decent imitation of Spock before turning around and striding out from the curtains that separated Kater's bed from the rest of the room. "Have fun storming the castle!" he called after her.

Christine's communicator was in her hand not a second later. She had to get Leonard down here. Now.

-0-

Pavel fell silent, and suddenly the humming vent in the corner deafened Jim; the noise was grating, the gentle flow of air far too calm. Sedate. His hand twitched. When he looked down he realized that, had he been sitting in the captain's chair, he would have just hit signal for red alert. Perhaps that was just instinct, now, that whenever he got the feeling in his chest, the tight feeling, like the tops of his lungs were tied together, trapping the air in his chest. He had always associated that feeling with a hostile ship baring down on the Enterprise, filling the view screen and, for a few precious seconds, his entire vision.

' _My crew_ ,' he realized. ' _My family_.' That's what that feeling was. When he felt his head get too hot and his stomach too cold, when his hand twitched to his belt for a phaser or to the arm of his chair for that glaring red button. When he felt the muscles in his arm tense to punch an enemy that wasn't there. When the ship lurched in an attack and he grabbed for the nearest person.

There was a communicator chirp to Kirk's right and he turned to see Bones shove off the wall and push his way to the door, ignoring when Hikaru's chair ripped the carpet as he shouldered his way past.

"Bones!" Kirk had gotten to his feet, but only vaguely remembered doing it. He stared at the door as his friend turned around.

"Not…" Bones cleared his throat, covering up something. Kirk wished he knew what, but at the moment all he could tell was that Bones was upset – and that was too vague of a description in Kirk's book. So was 'conflicted,' but he supposed he had to go with something. "Not now, Jim."

The door slid shut with a rush of air much louder than that of the vent and the room was submerged in silence again.

Scotty was the one to break it, but he didn't say anything; he slid forward off his wall the half a foot necessary to get beside Pavel's chair. Kneeling, he swung the chair out to face him and looked at Pavel's face for a few seconds. Reaching forward, Scotty held onto Pavel's shoulder and the moments slid by. Jim didn't bother counting them; the world was frozen – or at least their tiny world in the meeting room was. It was slow, careful, but Scotty folded Pavel in a hug, pulling him forward. In a murmur Scotty said, "You are the bravest person on this ship, laddie, and I'm never going to let you forget it. Understand?" He didn't pull back to look at Pavel's face or check for a nod. He barely even paused before continuing, "You are our navigator. _Our_ navigator. That means we have a right to know if you're in danger. You fought; that's good. We always want you to do that. But next time, don't you think for a _second_ you're allowed to fight alone. You are _our_ navigator, laddie."

Pavel's back was shaking, and Jim realized that this _was_ the first time in a while he had seen Pavel cry.

-0-

" _Leonard_!" Christine hissed, pulling the CMO to the side as he strode into Med Bay. He always walked in like he owned the place, even when he wasn't paying attention to what he was doing, though Christine couldn't blame him. She did, too. "You need to tell me, what _exactly_ do you believe Patron did? Don't ask questions and don't start parroting policy at me. We're too far gone for that. What did he do?"

Leonard looked startled, dazed. Angry. Betrayed. Hurt. His eyes were red. Christine ignored the guilt she felt at making him think when he looked like that; whether or not Leonard was upset, he was still in charge and _had_ to know what Patron said. Christine stared at him until he blinked, shaking his head. "Sorry, what? I'm a little bit… could you repeat that?"

' _Great_ ,' Christine thought, and never had one of her internal monologues carried so much sarcasm; she stomped down her irritation before it started dripping out of her ears. ' _He's in one of his guilt spirals_.' She clapped once in front of his face, regardless of how risky that could be when Leonard's temper could snap like a rubber band, and said, "Wake up! We could very well be floating next to a ticking time bomb right now!" _That_ certainly got his attention. Good. He needed to realize she was in full emergency mode. "I need you to tell me, what did Patron do? Or what do you think he did?" She had positioned them carefully out of view of that curtained corner where two security guards stood, protecting Patron's biobed.

"He, uh. Um." Leonard shook his head again and drew himself up, taking in the sight of Med Bay over her head. All at once he was back to being the CMO she knew and loved and sometimes wanted to slap across the face. "We think he created a breach of security in the Internal Long-Distance Communications Array, allowing messages to enter and leave the Enterprise unrecorded. We think he, Sge, and Nils, maybe Nguyen, were involved in the kidnapping of Ensign Brooke and the attempted kidnapping of Pavel and Joey. We think he has something to do with that seven-star system, even if that does seem impossible, and… I think he may have been involved with a group that attacked Pavel before we left Earth."

Christine felt cold inside. "I need to talk to the captain."

"What?"

She ignored him and strode out of the room, much the same way Leonard usually walked in. "Christine!" Leonard jogged into the hall. "Christine, what do you know?"

"You'll find out as soon as I find Jim." She rounded on him and demanded, "Where is he?"

Leonard gaped for a moment before pointing to the right. "Communications lab. Is Med Bay covered?"

"I got Aaron Aarons to cover Frost's shift. We're good."

"Aarons? Did you clear that with Kirk? Hell, did you clear that with _me_?"

"No, Leonard. I did not. Obviously. Now are you going to complain about a competent nurse being given the shift of a lazy jackal, or are we going to attend to the urgent matter that really needs to be dealt with _now_?"

There was a beat, a pause where he really did seem to consider complaining, and then he grumbled, "Let's go." Leonard took off down the hall and Christine had to run to keep up. It felt good to be doing something, even if she still felt that panic in the back of her head.

-0-

 ** _"This took a lot longer than usual, but I hope the update is appreciated. I promise this story will be finished by December 6_** ** _th_** ** _, 2017, the second anniversary of when I published the first chapter."_**

 **Ahahahahaha. Above, you see the original author's note for this chapter. I had this written in September, but only edited it today, December 10** **th** **, 2017. Forgive me. And please don't abandon this story. It will be finished! Sure, it's over two years old and I originally intended for this story to be one chapter and we're on chapter 35 and I may or may not even have five paragraphs of 36 written, but it will be completed! Eventually! At this point we're looking at… max 41 chapters total? Ah, screw it. All I have is the plot. We're playing the chapter thing by ear.**

 **Welcome back to my little slice of Star Trek, by the way! Happy to be back!**


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